Gotta learn everything the hard way
Since Dad was a Knox County schoolteacher, he had the summer months off at the same time that my siblings and I did. I didn’t realize what a treat that was until after I was grown and had kids of my own. When Dad wasn’t doing garden work, he liked to spend his free time hunting and fishing. He always seemed happiest when he was in a place of solitude, either in the woods under a tree listening for a squirrel or on the lake trying to land a trophy bass. Dad taught me the rules of respect for a firearm and the land. I treasured the outings that I was able to take with him. I would follow in his footsteps and mimic his every move. I tried not to be loud or ask too many questions in fear of aggravating him in some way. We always had a quiet understanding.
On one occasion, Dad and I were on a hunting trip in some woods. I was carrying an old Stevens’s twenty-gauge shotgun that he had passed down to me. He had instructed me not to be “dry firing” the gun because it would break the firing pin and not be able to fire ammunition. Of course, I, in my stupidity, ignored his instructions and had been dry snapping the gun. I had only snapped it 2 times, but on the second snap, I heard the firing pin roll down the barrel of the gun. I didn’t utter a word of this to Dad.
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