A few months before Dad passed away he was insistant that I take an old double barrel shotgun. I felt funny about it, but he was determinded. So I took it home, cleaned it up and found it was made between 1902-12. Now what, I know take it hunting. So my friend from work Chris and I went pheasant hunting. It was cold and snowy, perfect for hunting birds. When the first bird flushed and I smoked it with a 100yr old gun, I new Dad would be proud. I know I was. 8 birds fell to the old girl. Life is much more different now that Dad's gone. That crutch to able to call for anything is not there. Not being able to ask how to fix something or tell him about something I made or fixed is maybe what I miss the most. That's what Dad was, making something or fixing it. But I seem to have a different confidence about things, and I've never felt closer to my 3 wonderful brothers. Maybe because the pool of people you can count on for anything is growing smaller. I not sure. I guess time will tell. But hunting on that cold snowy I felt like Dad was right there with me, and I guess as long I never forget he always will.
