Village Squire, 1979-11, Page 26several years later when Joe asked me to go rabbit hunting with
him so I got down the old shotgun and cleaned it up. We saw
nothing more exciting than a few rabbit tracks and I came home
relieved and not just because I was afraid the old gun might blow
up in my face.
But mostly, when the other boys talked about hunting on the
way to school, I just walked along in silence, pretending to listen
but thinking of other things. It wasn't until I was older that I
remembered that day and my feelings and then thought of the
quietness of my father when the subject turned to hunting and
guns. It wasn't until then that I began to think past the images 1
had of the War from my boys books and began to understand
what it must have been for this gentle man. He had told me of
men he knew getting blown apart by land mines or grenades and
I'd been sad, but never known what it was like to see life ooze
away. And what, I began to wonder, must it have been like to go
by the body of a man and realize that you had taken his life from
him?
I never told my father of these nought. I never tried to probe
deeper into the secret memorie he might carry. But somehow I
just felt I understood this sura,, er a little better: this stranger,
my father, the hero.
N,t IOW
DCANADA'
TSS
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24 Village Squire, November 1979
9
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