There is something so completely wrong with that title. I grew up in a family that hunts. As a young child I was often dragged along on some of those excursions. I was the exception and never embraced hunting.
This is the week...the one that happens in early November every year without fail. Deer hunting opener. My dad has been going "up north for as long as I can remeber" last year Anthony joined him for the first time and Beckie has gone the last few years.
I've never understood the hunting mindset. If venison were my only choice for meat I would become a vegitarian. My response to why I didn't hunt of "I just don't have heart to kill Bambi" were always met with a puzzled look. When my kids wanted to join in instead of looking at the killing Bambi view I instead chose to see the time spent with their grandpa...the opportunity to learn and hear his stories, the chance to create memories with him...and there I found peace with my kids crazy notion to hunt.
Today my dad returned home and stopped to see the kids that he hasn't seen for a week and then he asked if they wanted to go see the deer and off they went. And when they returned with questions a worry or two and one simply freaked out 5 year old who was eyeing her grandpa in a way a 5 year old would when realizing that going to see deer did not mean the living breathing variety. She questioned her grandpa thoroughly until I think he may have been wondering why he killed the deer or at the very least why he took the child to see the deer .
As I watched this play out I put away my total dislike of all things hunting and instead I tucked away this moment to remember the man he is...and the gift he brings to each of their lives. The connection they share with him in all things. He was proud to share this thing he loves to do with them and they were eager to hear his stories and that is a pretty great thing. ..
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