As time passes rapidly along for me, I think back to days of youth, days of frivolity, days of where trial and error dominated. I came from a generous family, strong and united. My parents loved me dearly, throughout my life, and gave me all that they possessed, accordingly. I was carried to a special family, to drop a special blessing in their hands.
As I sit, pondering upon the past, my thoughts pass upon a rare experience that I had had at the age of a child in fourth grade. My thoughts carry me to that time. I remember being seated in a classroom, the teacher rambling on and on, reviewing the names of the presidents of the United States, presidents of the past, with the attending pupils. Now, to a fourth-grade student of my capacity, the given names of the past governors of the nation held little minimal importance.
I thought, that day of dreams, of being a great Superman, a dream I held throughout my life. I glanced out the classroom window that day and saw a bird land on a tree branch. Just then, I was startled by the calling of my name by the presiding teacher. I turned my attention thus ward and beheld my dad, wearing his favorite black-and-red checkered hunting shirt and cowboy hat, a funny sight at this particular time of day and at that particular setting. He was standing at the door.
“Bradley!” I finally came to reality, responding “What?” in a voice that was purposely barely audible. “Come here!” The teacher said, motioning me onward. I responded to the call, thinking I had a punishment coming. I walked, head down, to the classroom door where my father and the teacher stood. “Let’s go,” my dad said, motioning toward the school exit. “Where are we going?” I asked, as I started out with my father’s arm around me. “Never mind that,” My father answered, looking back at the teacher.
Once we had left the school grounds, in my dad’s four-wheel-drive, I questioned again, “Where are we going?” “Where do you want to go?” Was my father’s reply. Now, a thousand things run through a fourth-grader’s mind when he is given the opportunity to think. “Hunting!” was the response I came up with. Somehow, my father knew that that would be my response, because we were already headed toward the mountains, guns and ammunition supplied.
My dad took me hunting that fine day, hunting for rock chucks. Now, I didn’t see a rock chuck the whole day, nor did know what one looked like. But, I didn’t say anything. I just smiled. That was the most memorable day of my childhood.