I was reading a post on another forum about a man who had just lost his hunting partner, better known to him as "Dad". As I wiped the tears from my eyes, I started to reflect upon my hunting partner. My hunting partner for the past 28 years has always been a gruff and hard working man. He has taught me many things about life and the correct way to live it. Before writing this post, I have reflected upon the hard times that I have experienced with him (primarily my late teens and early adulthood). I remember the situations that caused us to butt heads during this period, including the many moments when I didn't care to ever see him again. I remember the feelings of self pity when I whined to my mother that I have never heard the words "I love you" come from him. I thought him to be cruel to make me work for everything in life, refusing to buy me a car, new gun, or pay for my education unless I took the first step in getting a job and paying for it myself.
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<br>But, each year as I grow older, he becomes more and more intelligent. Many of the things that he did during my raising start to make sense. I recall that even during the years when I thought that he was the most callous man in the world, hunting was always a univeral bond between us. I remember the only gun that he purchased for me, a Remington 788 for my tenth birthday. I remember the thrill in taking my first mule deer buck with it and the excitement that he had in teaching me to field dress it. I remember the afternoons after school when he would take me hunting and I remember the gun safety lectures that he gave me.
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<br>As I reach my thirty-fifth year on this earth, he no longer occupies the niche of just being my father. We, as adults, have progressed from the father/son relationship into being friends. When something exciting or conversely, negative happens in my life he is there for me. He is my sounding board and my guiding hand.
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<br>Over the past five years, we have shared more hunts than I can recall. He was there when I bagged my first antelope, elk, whitetail, blackbuck, axis deer, red deer, and russian boar. When I plan a hunt, he is the first person that I call to join me. We still have our annual whitetail and elk hunts left this year, and he is taking great pride in taking my sons along and making our trips truly three-generational.
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<br>As he approaches his fifty-fifth birthday, I am beginning to see the signs of mortality in him. He can't climb the mountains like he once did, and the gray is taking over his hair. I remember that I have never told him "I love you Dad", but I now realize that even if we have never actually vocalized the words the feeling is mutual.
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<br>I tell my sons (nine and five) everyday that I love them. I just hope that I can be the same kind of Dad that mine has been to me.
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<br>2nd
