Bad Behavior

Sometimes I fear my behavior is not what it should be. For instance, the Ryder cup has come and gone, and not once did I drive over to Chaska to see what all the fuss was about. I would have liked to see Bill Murray though – funny guy. Oh well, maybe next year. . .

Frequently, when the temperatures turn cooler and the sky threatens snow, I will stop shaving and let my beard grow in. Initially, I was taken back by all the questions regarding my motivation for the change in my appearance, as it seemed to suggest to many inquisitive people that I was getting ready for deer hunting.  I am guessing that deer may be averse to clean-shaven men and would rather be approached by someone who looked the part of a backwoodsman – gruff ‘n ready.

I’m not much of a fisherman either. Although I will, if given the opportunity, get comfortable with a book, a beverage, some nightcrawlers and a pole rigged with a bobber. I will take my gear and a lawn chair out to the end of a long dock and get set-up. I can think of no better way to spend an hour than having fish steal worms off the end of a poorly baited hook and not know when to give the pole a good pull. Of course, I may be doing it wrong.

I suppose I could blame my dad for not teaching me now to hunt and fish – but he did give it a go.  One time he loaded his three boys and his trusty .22 into the station wagon for an afternoon of squirrel hunting in the autumn woods. None of us were very old (except for dad), and we had never been hunting before, so the whole experience was new with much to learn.

We knew well enough to stay behind dad; we had learned that in shopping malls, walking to church, traipsing through campgrounds and anywhere walking was required. We all knew you didn’t go on ahead of him and you didn’t get too far behind. I don’t believe we saw any squirrels in the woods that day, but we did see a snake, which dad shot for apparently no other reason than his gun was loaded. Shortly thereafter, we went home with no meat for the table, not even snake.

When we got home dad told mom we all cried when he shot the snake. I don’t think that’s true; two of us may have sniffled while the other brother was just visibly shaken.

Fishing wasn’t much better. When I was young, my dad would only take a couple of us out at a time with him in the boat.  I suppose, the thinking was why have all five kids drown on the same trip? Dad caught mostly bullheads in those southern Minnesota lakes. We weren’t allowed to touch them, so as not to get stung. We could only marvel at the way dad handled them, even when he got hit by the stinger he didn’t cry out in pain.

As an adult the hunting and fishing stories entertain me, at least those leading up to the event. I know a woman who had planned her wedding around hunting season. Recently, a friend of mine declined to participate in a family vacation so he could go hunting. When I suggested that his behavior was nothing new and shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, he took issue with my word choice. He thought the word “behavior” had a bad connation and preferred referring to hunting as an activity instead, which I agree sounds more common and ordinary, except now, in addition to having poor behavior, I feel inactive, uncommon and out-of-the-ordinary as well.