Saturdays were always different in my family. My grandfather and I would wake up early and
enjoy a great homemade breakfast that my grandmother made. We would spend an hour
getting ready, preparing our rifles, and masking ourselves with the scent of doe urine. This was
our tradition, and we stuck to it, but one Saturday holds a special place in my heart.
My grandpa and I decided that this was my morning to kill my first deer. Every man
in my family had shared his experiences about killing that traditional first deer throughout the
years. I wanted to have my own story, and I knew this Saturday morning was my opportunity to
gain that story. Apart from being nine years old, I felt I was mature enough to take the
As we walked out to that old Ford that took five minutes to start, I was so excited. I
don’t know what was different about this Saturday, but I had a gut feeling it would be good. We
drove and drove until we arrived at this old log trail that had not been used in 50 years. The
road bounced us around like ping-pong balls, but that did not deter my excitement. After what
seemed like an hours worth of driving, we made it. We made it to the memory-filled
spot where my grandfather killed his first deer.
We took that dreaded walk up the side of a steep, snow covered mountain where our
deer stand was placed. We spent a few minutes preparing ourselves, and made sure our rifles
were loaded and on safe. There would always be small talk between us, but Pa would never let
it get out of hand. As we took our seats, he said "Keep an eye on the ridge, and keep quiet
son.", he always had a special way with words...
... middle of paper ...
first kill, and that’s when the stories flooded the early lunch conversations. Story after story was
told while we ate. After the so called brunch, we paid and started home.
We made it to the house where we practically called the entire family. Everyone came
as we hung up the deer, and proceeded to get the meat off the bones. We posed and took
pictures. I honestly believe my grandpa was more proud than anyone there. We had a special
bond, and this right-of-passage only made that bond stronger. I hold this memory close to my
heart, and think about it quite often.
Even though family issues came up later in life, my grandpa raised me well. He taught
me how to do a good day 's work, how to be respectful, and how to be a good person. We don 't
communicate anymore, but there will always be a special place in my heart for that hard
working, grumpy old man.
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