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It was dinner time. Orel and his family always sat together as they ate. Christina asked their oldest son about how school was that day. "It was good, but I have a project I have to do." their son answered. "What kind of project?" Orel questioned. "Well, it's about family history... Do you think you could tell me a bit about your childhood, Dad?" he asked. "My.. childhood?" Orel pondered.
"Yeah, like what were Grandma and Grandpa like when you were growing up?" his son wondered. Orel set his fork down carefully. “They were… complicated.” “My father believed in… teaching lessons. Said it was how boys became men.” he paused. “He just had a very different idea of what a lesson was.” "And my mother.. she cared, at least I like to think that she did. She did what she had to, taking care of me and my brothers."
Christina’s posture stiffened almost immediately. “Sweetheart,” she said gently. “Maybe you could pick a different topic. Something a little lighter?” “There are… easier stories,” Christina stated. "It's fine.." Orel said. "He can handle it."
“Our teacher said that our project has to include a childhood memory from our parent.” his son added. Orel let out a small chuckle. “Did I ever tell you about the hunting trip?” Christina stiffened immediately. “Are you sure, honey?” “I am.” There was a heavy pause as Christina quickly guided their daughter out of the dining room.
Orel exhaled slowly. “Alright… here goes.” “When I was about your age, my father told me about the Puppington family tradition, the hunting trip.” His voice shook. “He was supposed to take his eldest son out to the Moralton Nature Reserve… even if he didn’t think that son deserved it.” Across the table, his son shifted uncomfortably. “He… didn’t think you deserved it?” Orel gave a faint shrug, “That was just how he was.”
“I remember trying so hard to do everything right. I wore my lucky shirt. I packed a med kit, just in case.” A faint smile crossed his face. “He laughed at me for that. Said I was being paranoid.” His son questioned his Grandfather's reaction.
“When we got to the campsite, he started drinking. That was normal. He only brought four bottles, which meant he was trying to show some restraint.” His son blinked. “Four bottles is... restraint?” Orel let out a dry response. “For him? Yeah."
“Then we went hunting. I was... a soft kid. I couldn’t do it. Every time I saw an animal, I just... froze. I kept thinking about how scared they must’ve been.” His voice tightened. “I couldn’t pull the trigger.” His son looked down, his voice softer as he spoke. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”
Orel began to fidget with his hands. “That really got to him. You could see his anger building.. every missed shot I made, every little bit of hesitation I had. He eventually lost it. He said if I wouldn’t kill something, he’d show me how it’s done.” Confusion painted his sons face “What do you mean…?”
Orel’s voice dropped. “He shot a hunting dog.” The words hung heavy. His son gasped. “What? Why would he-” "I begged him not to,” Orel added. “I remember that part clearly... my begging. But it didn’t matter. Nothing I said ever mattered to him it seemed.”
“We went back to camp with it. And then he cooked it, ate it like it was nothing.” His son’s jaw clenched, eyes begging to moist. “Oh gosh...” Silence filled the room.“I couldn’t even look at him,” Orel continued. “I just sat there, feeling sick, like something inside me had... broken.” He reached for his glass. "After that, we fought. Really fought. I don’t even remember everything we said. All I can recall was us shouting. The anger.” His voice softened. “And then there was a gunshot.” His son went still. “A... gunshot?” Orel nodded slowly.
“At first, I didn’t even realize it was me that he shot. Then the pain hit.” His hand moving toward his leg unconsciously. “He’d shot me. My own father... shot me.” His son's eyes grew wide. “He shot you? Dad, that’s not an accident-" His son urged. “He said it was,” Orel stated. Silence fell again, heavier this time.
“And you know what he did afterwards?” Orel let out a quiet chuckle. “He went to sleep. Just... laid down and passed out.” His son stared at him, disbelief turning into hurt. “He just left you there?”
“I stayed there all night. Alone. Bleeding. Scared.” His voice dropped. “I kept thinking… maybe I really wasn’t worth saving.” His son’s expression fell. “That’s not true.” “...I know that now.” Orel said.
His son hesitated while asking. “Is that why Mom didn’t want you to tell me?” “Yes.." Orel responded.
Softly, his son asked, “Are you okay?” Orel didn’t answer right away. "I’m trying to be.”