I Remember

I remember growing up in a family where guns were not only a sport but a way of life. My father and grandfather were both hunters and we lived on venison a couple night a week. My father was a Classified Courier for a company with Naval Contracts. I can remember him making a couple trips a week to Washington, DC or one of the Proving Grounds, and always with a .38 on his hip. Most of the time he drove the trip from Rochester to DC and there were no super highways in those days. Sometimes when paperwork had to be there in a rush, we would drive him to the airport and he would get on a plane, still with that .38 on his side.

I remember getting my first bow and arrows when I was nine years old. I remember shooting the family BB gun in the garage with my Dad teaching me how. I remember the first time he took me out deer hunting, I was not old enough to get a license, but I enjoyed just tagging along.

I also remember growing up in a time when punishment was swift and sure. There were no timeouts in the corner followed by a hug and kiss. There was a wide leather belt or the back of a hand. It's funny how quickly you learned right from wrong in those days. Kids did not come to school with Dad's gun and shoot a bunch of people when they had a beef, they duked it out somewhere and the beef was settled and all was forgiven. Of course when you got home, if you were on the losing end, you usually got some more.

Those were simpler times, when people who were not gun owners, did not want to take away your guns. Those were times when your hunter safety instructor was your father or grandfather. Those were times when weekend entertainment was a trip to go groundhog shooting or just somewhere to target shoot. It was a family affair with a picnic lunch.

I remember all these things, and then I think of today and wish I owned a one way time machine.