When I was 10 years old there was a Army-Navy surplus store called Sunnys surplus, in Silver Spring Maryland. In those days, the the 1950s, it was real military surplus stuff, not imitation junk from some asian country. I had some money from my allowance and I had bought a U.S. GI all metal scout knife. It was'nt a bad knife, and I got some good use out of it. But when I joined the boy Scouts Of America, my Dad gave me a real "Official" scout knife with the emblam in the handle and all. It was a good carbon steel blade, and I took very great care of that knife. It was carried proundly after I got my tote-chip badge, and it was used well into my teen years. Even though it was still a treasured item it was put away in my sock drawer when something else replaced it. It was horded for some future use.
That use came when my youngest son joined the scouts. My first born son, John, did not have much of an interest in scouts, and my middle child was a tomboy girl who joined the girl scouts. Being daddys little girl Jessica had an interest in the outdoors that was matched only by my third child, Matt. Jessica got a official girl scout knife, and I gave Matt my old boy scout knife that my dad had given me. It was still in good shape having been stored more years that it was used, and Matt treasured it like I had.
Many years passed, and the kids grew up and got lives of thier own, and eventually made us grandparents. These days Matt is a county police officer, and is very buisy with shift work and his mom and I don't see him as much as we'd like to. Like all the kids, Matt grew up learning to shoot on my .22 like I did with my own father. I had bought a Ruger standard model in the mid 60's for 39.95, and when Matt was 12 he learned to shoot with it and my Marlin rifle. Of all my kids, Karen always said Matt was the most like me. Kind of quiet, vey practical minded.
It was a bit of a surprise when he called me recently, and wanted to know if I was going out to the range soon. Since I retired its been a twice a week thing for me to go out to the Izaak Walton League where I belong to spend a few hours burning up some Federal bulk pack rimfire ammo from the 'mart. I told him I was going out that day and he was welcome to come along. It had been a long time since we had gone shooting together, and since he had the day off, he went.
Kid are surprising. Sometimes you wonder at the way they turn out, and sometimes you're flattered when they end up imitating your actions. When we got to the range I took out the old Ruger I bought fourty years ago. It was still in good shape, with a bright bore and chamber, even if looking a bit worn in the blue dept. I had not shot it for a few years as I had been working with a Smith and Wesson 617 ten shot revolver. But out of nostalgia I had been using it again, and with my son coming along I took it out of semi-retirement. At the shooting bench, Matt took out a familiar looking gun and grinned at my surprise. Back when he was just leagal age to buy a handgun, he had bought a Ruger like mine. The old standard model by that time had given way to the MK1, then the MK2. Matt had bought a MK2 with the same configuration of barrel and sights as my old gun, but in stainless. I expressed surprise that he still had it, and he told me he'd never get rid of it as it was his favortie gun to shoot.
We had a good couple of hours of shooting, both at targets and plinking at some clay birds set out on the dirt berm. The game was not breaking the birds, that was the easy part, but "cleaning up the pieces". I'd like to say I held my own, but I'd be lying. Young 27 year old eyes took the day when the pieces got down to quarter size, and in my defeat felt pride that he was so good. Defeat was further sweetend when he told me he had a good teacher.
The afternoon had worn on and we both felt a need for lunch. I suggested the sandwich shop in Damascus, but Matt said no, it did'nt apeal to him. I suggested a pizza and a beer, but again he said it did'nt apeal to him. He had a strange smile and said he wanted to have some hot dogs, but not just any hot dogs. He asked me to go with him and get some dogs and roast them over a fire like we used to. I looked at him for a unbellieving moment, and asked him if he was serious. He got that grin again and said "Lets do it!"
So off we went to a convience store up the road and bought a package of all beef ballpark franks, grabbed a couple of packets of mustard and drove back to the club. There's woods all around the property and we walked off to find a nice clearing with some weak winter sunshine beaming in. Gathering up some twigs and small stuff we got a little campfire going and set about making a couple of hot dog forks. Its an art to find just the right size forked branch and then sharpen the prongs just right. We sat down on oposite sides of our little twig fire, and then I saw what was in his hand.
Matt was sharpening the prongs of his dog fork with a strangely familiar looking knife. The worn spearpoint blade was a medium grey, and there was an insignia molded into the brown delrin handles. Matt could'nt help but notice my open mouth astonished stare, and with another of those grins he handed over my old scout knife. The 15 years had put some more wear on the knife, but it was still in fair shape given the fact that my dad had presented me with that knife on a Christmas 53 years before. There must have been some smoke from the fire or something, as my eyes blured a little and I needed to blink a few times. I expressed a large amount of surprise that he still carried that old scout knife.
"It has alot of sentimental value, my dad gave it to me" was all he said, looking at me with those grey eyes that reminded me of my father's.
So there we sat, two grown men roasting hot dogs on a stick over a fire on a mild winter day, with silly grins on our faces. We did'nt say much, just enjoyed a companionable quiet while we made sure the dogs were well blistered over the coals. It was one of the best lunches I can remember.
That use came when my youngest son joined the scouts. My first born son, John, did not have much of an interest in scouts, and my middle child was a tomboy girl who joined the girl scouts. Being daddys little girl Jessica had an interest in the outdoors that was matched only by my third child, Matt. Jessica got a official girl scout knife, and I gave Matt my old boy scout knife that my dad had given me. It was still in good shape having been stored more years that it was used, and Matt treasured it like I had.
Many years passed, and the kids grew up and got lives of thier own, and eventually made us grandparents. These days Matt is a county police officer, and is very buisy with shift work and his mom and I don't see him as much as we'd like to. Like all the kids, Matt grew up learning to shoot on my .22 like I did with my own father. I had bought a Ruger standard model in the mid 60's for 39.95, and when Matt was 12 he learned to shoot with it and my Marlin rifle. Of all my kids, Karen always said Matt was the most like me. Kind of quiet, vey practical minded.
It was a bit of a surprise when he called me recently, and wanted to know if I was going out to the range soon. Since I retired its been a twice a week thing for me to go out to the Izaak Walton League where I belong to spend a few hours burning up some Federal bulk pack rimfire ammo from the 'mart. I told him I was going out that day and he was welcome to come along. It had been a long time since we had gone shooting together, and since he had the day off, he went.
Kid are surprising. Sometimes you wonder at the way they turn out, and sometimes you're flattered when they end up imitating your actions. When we got to the range I took out the old Ruger I bought fourty years ago. It was still in good shape, with a bright bore and chamber, even if looking a bit worn in the blue dept. I had not shot it for a few years as I had been working with a Smith and Wesson 617 ten shot revolver. But out of nostalgia I had been using it again, and with my son coming along I took it out of semi-retirement. At the shooting bench, Matt took out a familiar looking gun and grinned at my surprise. Back when he was just leagal age to buy a handgun, he had bought a Ruger like mine. The old standard model by that time had given way to the MK1, then the MK2. Matt had bought a MK2 with the same configuration of barrel and sights as my old gun, but in stainless. I expressed surprise that he still had it, and he told me he'd never get rid of it as it was his favortie gun to shoot.
We had a good couple of hours of shooting, both at targets and plinking at some clay birds set out on the dirt berm. The game was not breaking the birds, that was the easy part, but "cleaning up the pieces". I'd like to say I held my own, but I'd be lying. Young 27 year old eyes took the day when the pieces got down to quarter size, and in my defeat felt pride that he was so good. Defeat was further sweetend when he told me he had a good teacher.
The afternoon had worn on and we both felt a need for lunch. I suggested the sandwich shop in Damascus, but Matt said no, it did'nt apeal to him. I suggested a pizza and a beer, but again he said it did'nt apeal to him. He had a strange smile and said he wanted to have some hot dogs, but not just any hot dogs. He asked me to go with him and get some dogs and roast them over a fire like we used to. I looked at him for a unbellieving moment, and asked him if he was serious. He got that grin again and said "Lets do it!"
So off we went to a convience store up the road and bought a package of all beef ballpark franks, grabbed a couple of packets of mustard and drove back to the club. There's woods all around the property and we walked off to find a nice clearing with some weak winter sunshine beaming in. Gathering up some twigs and small stuff we got a little campfire going and set about making a couple of hot dog forks. Its an art to find just the right size forked branch and then sharpen the prongs just right. We sat down on oposite sides of our little twig fire, and then I saw what was in his hand.
Matt was sharpening the prongs of his dog fork with a strangely familiar looking knife. The worn spearpoint blade was a medium grey, and there was an insignia molded into the brown delrin handles. Matt could'nt help but notice my open mouth astonished stare, and with another of those grins he handed over my old scout knife. The 15 years had put some more wear on the knife, but it was still in fair shape given the fact that my dad had presented me with that knife on a Christmas 53 years before. There must have been some smoke from the fire or something, as my eyes blured a little and I needed to blink a few times. I expressed a large amount of surprise that he still carried that old scout knife.
"It has alot of sentimental value, my dad gave it to me" was all he said, looking at me with those grey eyes that reminded me of my father's.
So there we sat, two grown men roasting hot dogs on a stick over a fire on a mild winter day, with silly grins on our faces. We did'nt say much, just enjoyed a companionable quiet while we made sure the dogs were well blistered over the coals. It was one of the best lunches I can remember.
