Passing Traditions
The gift of a first shotgun is so much more than a gift. It is a present, the past and a future. It is a time-honored tradition of Grandfathers handing-down to fathers, uncles and sons. Such gift-giving is an event unto itself in some families it surpasses the event of a first car, much like the passing of a torch. The shotguns themselves, are a family member, and hold unspoken truths they are sacred heirlooms more precious than gold. Priceless in their beauty, they are taken out for only special hunts or competitions. The shotguns are ceremoniously and meticulously cleaned afterward at the kitchen table with all present, and the most endearing and important of conversations taking place during the gun-cleaning session.
It was not the time to monkey-around, nor the time to ask for a raise in allowance or an extension in curfew. However, if you wanted that Ruger LR 10-22 at JM Fields, or Browning Auto 5 that you saw at K-Mart, this was your time to ask for help or at least that was the way it was in my family so many years ago. That was how my brother came upon his first shotgun. He was in JROTC and Daddy presented him with his very own soon thereafter for performing well on Rifle Drills. I could not get my own shotgun, because plain and simple: ‘JoAnna, shotguns kick like mules. Girls don’t shoot ‘em. You’ll hurt yourself, and never want to shoot again.’
Undaunted, I kept the idea in my head, and started Sporting Clays as a hobby. I must’ve shot every shotgun ever loaned to me. This is not what is recommended for ANY beginning shooter, for most will likely become gun-shy! 12gauge pump, 20 gauge pump, 12 gauge over/under, countless 20 and 12 gauge field guns, all I know is that I wanted to shoot, and I wanted my own shotgun! Finally, the day came and there it was: ‘The Shotgun Destiny Knew Had to Be Mine.’ It was in the May/June 2008 Garden & Gun Magazine, and I just had to have it: – but how?! I researched and knew that despite what the local Gun Shop owner told me, the Browning Silver Sporting Micro Clays was being manufactured and sold. I pleaded with Daddy. Daddy made a deal with me, and said that if I found a gun shop in the Central Florida area that either had the Shotgun in stock, or could get it in without purchasing it, and it was a good gun, we might see about an early Christmas that year. Without hesitation, I began making calls, searching the internet, and found a Browning Dealer who was more than happy to help my cause.
The day finally came, and Daddy’s Little Girl became a 12 gauge Lady. I became the proud owner of a brand-new Browning 12 gauge Shotgun, and my father passed on the torch not to a new generation, but to a new gender, and broke down more than many walls with a gentle understanding. Sundays at the Gun Club became something we both looked forward to. He would pull for me in a literal and figurative sense, coaching and rooting for me all the way. Many friendships were forged. Daddy and I bonded with a strong unbreakable silence. My father and I embarked on an Odyssey of friendship and sportsmanship that few are lucky to know.
We were invited to a Spring Gobbler Hunt that next year. That day in the blind, we were out and I was the first to see four gobblers, two jakes and two hens. We had been out for only 45 minutes. Daddy shook his head in amazement, as he’d never seen that many turkeys together in one hunt, that early in a hunt. The group of turkeys were about 125 yards away, and there were a clump of trees obscuring my view, I couldn’t be sure that I would not hit a hen. That was too far for a good shot, even with a rifle. I did not make the shot. Daddy sacrificed the shot as well, even though he could’ve well made it where he was at. It donned on me. This is what his whole life was about. He did not take that prize because he wanted me to have it. He was content just to be in the blind, be one with nature and to be a good sport, which a lot of days is what the hunt is all about—and passing on the tradition.
