Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Canada Father's day, and our fathers

Anyone care to tell about the man that shaped your life?

I would rather forget that part of my life.

wabigoon;
Top of the morning to you sir, I trust this finds you and yours well and rested - or with tired arms from reeling in too many pickerel.

My late father and I were very much alike in many, many ways. So much so that when we'd work together on projects we'd often do so without too much talking as we somehow knew what the other was thinking. Perhaps better said our thought processes on how the project should be built were often startlingly similar.

That said and perhaps because we were so much alike there were times we'd get on each other's nerves for sure, though we never exchanged harsh words as that's not the way we're wired somehow.

From him I got my love of hunting and many of my woodworking and construction skills.

That said, he wasn't a big animal lover or much of a mechanic either, so I've gone on a few divergent paths from his for sure.

He loved farming too and I always knew in my heart that my time behind a tractor wheel was a stopover.

For maybe a decade I was able to book a week off of work and go hunting with him here in BC, until his health deteriorated to the point where even riding in the pickup for that long wasn't possible.

He didn't shoot this whitetail - I did, but I was lucky enough to have a camera along that morning when we'd decided to go get a load of firewood and of course tossed in a rifle, but almost as an afterthought because we'd got such a late start on the day.


Somehow though the Good Lord offered up this buck who wandered out across the skid road at mid day and was sufficiently dense enough to stand still for that one second too long after I'd called it to a stop. To the best of my recollection it was the last hunt we were on together.

Anyway wabigoon, in many ways I still aspire to be the spiritual giant my late father became. One thing that really stuck and I do my best to emulate is that I knew he loved me every time we met or talked - there was no doubt in my mind or heart where I stood with him and I do my level best to do that with my good wife and our girls now.

Thanks for the memories and the exercise wabigoon, I do appreciate it very much.

Well I must go now as a couple loads of wood are calling to me and in fact I'll be heading up to where the photo was taken all those years ago.

Happy Father's Day to you wabigoon.

Dwayne

Nice tribute to your Dad Dewayne

Truth be told my father was a drunk--died of liver cirrosis at the age of 52. But he loved his children--me specially and tried his best to give us a good life. I learned so much from him--I miss him every day. I loved him.

Happy Fathers Day Wabi

He taught me what work was, I didn't like it but he still taught me. He took me hunting until he couldn't, then I took him

Jess Stovall December 4, 1910-December 27, 2004

My Dad is still with us Thank God, we had a little cancer scare earlier this year. He will be 76 in July, and still gets around real well. We still hunt together each fall and do stuff together the rest of the year. He's as good a granddad as he is a father. He taught me just about everything I know about everything. I love you Dad.

Dad passed away 25 years ago this Labour Day weekend, worst day of my life. We got very close the last few years as we both mellowed a bit and I grew up a bunch. We hunted together a couple of years, enough to get me started and I always have felt he was the main contributor to my lifelong interest in it.
Among other things he and I shared a deep appreciation of quality dogs, chickens and pigeons. We had a lot of fun raising and showing chickens in particular and were always in contention to the top prizes. He was internationally regarded as an excellent dog judge and passed the love of a well bred dog onto my, and through me to my daughter. That makes 5 generations at least that love a well put together dog!
When people tell me I look just like my dad I take that as a compliment.

My Dad is good, honest hard working man that I am thankful for everyday.

We are polar opposites in virtually everything though. He is deathly afraid of the water and I was captain of the swim team, lifeguard and rescue diver for a local PD. I hunt, fish and eat what I kill. He doesn't hunt or fish and the thought of eating what I shoot or catch would make him gag. Work is second to my family for me and I won't miss a football game or dance recital. My dad missed a lot of our activities as he was too busy providing for us.

I love my Dad and thank him for the morals and integrity he instilled in all of us kids but I'm happy with the man that I am as much as I'm happy with the man he is.

My grandfather on my mothers side. Father left when I was a young'un. My grandfather was a logger in the 1920's, and tough as nails, even into his old age. He rolled his own smokes, and was missing the thumb on his right hand. One of the other loggers took it off with an axe. They spit tobacco juice on it, and took a horse into town. Doc stitched it up, and that was that.
He loved rabbit hunting, and beagles. Raised hogs, and farmed in general. He was a hell of a man and I still miss him.

I loved both my parents till the day they died, but my father was a different person to me.
As afther i looked up to him every chance I got, and had the good fortune to grow up in a house full of match rifles as well as hunting guns.
he taught me to to shoot a shot gun over birds and to shoot trap and skeet as well .
However, when it came to smallbore and fullbore match rifles, he was a God to me, head coach and manager as well as team member of the national team for a time, venue coordinator for countless International shooting events that included the World Championships, Olympics, Commonwealth games , etc.
As a rifle coach he was stellar, but his greatest joy was hunting and shooting birds over one of his labs or deer hunting , or fishing with us.
Cat

Maybe a bit late, but any and every day can be Father's Day.

My Dad was 47 when I was born in 1947, so he had lots of life experience by the time I arrived on the scene. His little family came first, Mom, sister and I. He was a progressive grain farmer, loved his farm, and did well in life. He bought me a Cooey 39 when I was about 12. He used to take me out hunting "chicken hunting". He wasn't a drinker. He had the knack of being able to fire my imagination, and always encouraged me to read whenever the opportunity came.

So much of what he talked about and showed me, I have used to great advantage in my life. He lived in poverty during the Thirties, and carried the lessons learned into the rest of his days. Some of that has rubbed off on me. He spent very little money on himself, but always made sure his family was comfortable and well fed. He passed away at 65. I am now a year older than he was when he died. There isn't a day goes by that I don't quote him, recall something he did or said, or just have a fond picture of him doing his thing.

After nearly 50 years, I still miss him. I would give anything to be able to sit down at the old farm, in the little old elevator shack, and eat sandwiches out of the old black lunch boxes with him. Not to be, however.