Friday, November 13, 2009

Growing Up Hurt and Humiliated. Part 3

This is my ongoing attempts to make internet folks laugh, by telling them absolutely true stories of things that have happened to me.

If you've read the last two entries, you know by now that I used to live out in the country in Greenwood, Mississippi. At the age of 5.5, we moved to a spot in between the two mega metropolises that are Central and Waterloo, AL. Far enough out not to get cable, but not too far out to have to go to Waterloo. Thank God.

My Dad had continued on his own mission to get me to become a man through killing animals. While, not against hunting, I just don't want any part of it. I like just going to the store, and purchasing the after effects. I assume that maybe Dad was worried that Regonomics would fail, and that we would have to forever live off the land. Or he was trying to get out of the house.

One early saturday morning, he decided to wake me from bed to go quail hunting. As watching saturday morning cartoons were not as high on his to do list as they were mine. Being the winter time, it was naturally really really cold. When it gets cold here, it hurts. I imagine due to the moisture in the air. Now remember this for later. Cold. It hurts.

We went to a field that belonged to a friend of Dad's. Dad shot a bird or two. And then he pulled out his shotgun, and actually shot some birds. Wakka. One of them he hit in the eye with the bird shot. He opted to show me. That was polite of him.

We came to a clearing, and Dad thought it time to wait for more birds. Call it Mike vs Dad destiny, call it dad being bored...call it whatever. But Dad looked around for a minute, and pointed and told me "Sit down there." So I did.

A few seconds go by, and I start to feel painful stings in my feet. Then legs. Then butt. Then groin. Soon, all over. Dad in his infinite child rearing wisdom, opted to sit me directly on a fire ant hill. I freaked out a little bit, and began dancing around to get them off of me. Now, if you don't know about fire ants, they don't just bite once, and then go about their business. They bite over and over again. And then they bite some more.

Do you remember the bit about how cold it was? Yeah. Dad then had me strip down to nothing. In the freezing cold, to get the fire ants off. Oh, but it was only a second right? I could just put my clothes back on? No. There were fire ants still in all my clothes. So, we had to go back to the truck with me bare assed.

This would be the last time that Dad would take me hunting.

Next time, I'll tell you about how Dad the Professional Roofer vs Dad the Tree House Builder, are apparently not the same person.

1 comment:

  1. I wish you could remember if you had to run back to the car or your dad carried you. I can just imagine your bare butt at 5 years old running back to the car and your dad telling you to keep up!

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