So, I was poking around in archives looking for a picture of me with my first real gun. A Remington Nylon 66, and I came across some pictures that brought back a flood of memories. Maybe where I get some of my fondness for guns. That would be my Dad from years gone by with his rifle. I couldn't help but feel a connection and a loss. He passed before I really got deeply into the shooting sports and teaching. Funny but it seems that we had just begun to develop a much better relationship, than when I was growing up, when he was taken from this earth. All that "I know everything and you old folks are wrong" crap that I have now lived to regret has come back. We were supposed to take a Stearman up for a jaunt the weekend before I had a serious crash on my bike and he was diagnosed with cancer. The weather didn't cooperate so we canceled our flight and he was gone before I healed enough for us to reschedule.
I'll also share an OH $#!T moment. Many years ago in a previous job I was at a customer site with a few other engineers on a particularly intense install and in going to get something out of my toolbox, found the tool I needed was missing. I gathered up the engineers and said, "Damn it, if you are going to use tools out of someone's toolbox, put them back where you found them!" I had to clamp my hand over my mouth. All of the sudden, I had become my dad. I could hear the lecture from him like it was yesterday with me standing there having just taken something apart with his tools and left things scattered all over the garage.
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