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Another Weekend of Hunting
360 Words 16 April 2024
The complete story 2, 300 words will be in my coming book, “Expect the Unexpected.”

Nothing between us ever changed after my father shot me one sunny October morning back in ‘72. 

My father never came to a public day event when I was in elementary school, and we never played any sports together. There was a later time when I enjoyed squash very much. He didn’t. I liked to watch the Montreal Canadiens and Vancouver Canucks play hockey. He didn’t. I cheered too loudly.  He, not at all. 

It’s not as though we didn’t do anything together. He encouraged my enjoyment of suspense movies by Humphrey Bogart and Alfred Hitchcock, and British comedians Benny Hill and the Monty Python Troupe.  And summer road trips.  Some weekends, we’d go fishing together. In the autumn, we’d go on hunting trips for rabbit, or grouse. 

Two things he taught were to “question everything” and to be curious. It was important to him not to distrust what anybody, pedestrian, workmate or government official, said but to question it.  “Try to learn their reasoning.  And, not just judge it.” He said.  

He taught me a curiosity about and a keen desire for new food and places. His family was German, and he cooked from his mother’s repertoire. Not often. But I loved it.   He even made sauerkraut and dill pickles.  Trying any new food at least once was important to him. Kitimat, my hometown, had a small Chinese restaurant at which we ate often. It was on the summer road trips that I learned of Greek Moussaka and Ukrainian cabbage rolls and perogies.  Mind you, he never ate sushi. I still don’t.  The only good salmon is a freshly grilled one with butter, garlic, salt-n-pepper, and lemon. If I avoided any restaurant, café or diner ‘Special of the Day’ and ordered a hamburger, he shook his head showing his dismay. 

Even on hunting trips.

On one trip, I was twelve. My dad shot me. He must have heard the “KAPOW.” 

I didn’t. I just felt it.

Not one to beat his chest in distress, or wave his arms about in panic, he did swear in measured doses, and this was one of those. “Ralph?” he yelled. “What the fuck have I done?”  

Comprehension Questions

1. What event occurred between the narrator and his father on a sunny October morning in '72?
2. Describe the activities the narrator and his father enjoyed together, particularly during weekends and summer road trips.
3. What were two important principles or lessons the narrator's father imparted to him?
4. What type of food did the narrator's father enjoy cooking, and where did their curiosity for new food lead them?
5. How did the narrator's father react immediately after the incident where he accidentally shot his child?

Message me your answers, and I’ll let you know if you’re correct or not.