I stared out of
the passenger side window of my father’s white hunting truck, watching the snow
lightly fall to the mountain side. The bright but cold November afternoon began
with my father and I chugging along the mountain side, with my riffle in hand.
For five straight years my father and I have always gone hunting. We have
become very close over the last five years, mostly because when we hunt we
spend our time confiding in each other and just talking about everything. On
this day I sat on the passenger side of my father’s hunting truck, talking with
him.
Our
conversation just so happened to involve hunting. The next few years of hunting
began to put a lot of pressure on me to get an animal as we came home empty
handed every time. Of course we had opportunities to kill an animal almost
every year, but each time we were without luck. As I talked with my father
about my frustration and discouragement he shared his thoughts. He told me that
even though he would like to kill an animal it’s not the true reason he goes
hunting with me. My father said he doesn’t care about getting an animal, as
long as he and I enjoy spending time together doing something that we both
love. He proposed that if I don’t have fun hunting and if it just causes
unneeded stress then we should probably stop the hunting trips and leave now.
As
my dad offered this suggestion I couldn’t help but cry. I looked out of my
window into the knee deep snow covered landscape, I began to understand that
hunting really didn’t matter about getting an animal. I didn’t realize that my
dad and I have fun together in any situation.
After
coming to this realization I began to cheer up and stop the negativity I put on
myself. I apologized to my dad and thanked him for opening up my eyes to what
hunting really was about. I wiped away the ice cold tears left on my face and
began to breathe easy and really view my surroundings. As I did so I glanced to
my right, that’s when my heart began to pound loudly in my ears as I yelled
out, “Deer, deer!”
My
dad and I quickly devised a plan, moving along the road to turn up the mountain
to get over the top of the deer. As we came closer to the small herd my dad
slowed to a stop. I immediately jumped out of the cozy, warm truck into the
frigidly cold November air. The icy cold wind whipped against my cheek as I
cocked my gun and brought it to my face. Looking through the scope I found my
target, a young buck mule deer. My heart beat so fast and loud I felt uneasy,
but my father had jumped out of the vehicle the same time I did to whisper
words of encouragement saying, “You can do this.” I took a long deep breath and
pulled the trigger. The loud blast from my gun deafened me but I still heard
the definite thud of the young mule deer buck dropping to the ground. As I
looked over to my dad I saw his whole face light up with joy and excitement.
