DaQo'tah Forge
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- Aug 26, 2002
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My Dad's Knife (A story by DaQo'tah 2004)
It was about 8 years ago when my dad called me long distance and talked me into flying home for deer hunting with him and his hunting buddies. I did not actually have the free time to take off work but as dad had asked, I knew it was important to him so I went.
We had a ton of fun, and on top of it all, my dad shot the biggest buck that year with a massive rack. We had fun cutting up the deer on that last night. We drank, told lies and whispered things when the ladies came up to the shack to see how we were doing and to bring sandwiches.
I still remember dad so proud of his buck, using his big folder to skillfully cut the meat and hand it to me to be wrapped in the white paper.
Thinking back, I remember now how on the last day of hunting that dad had decided to walk with me in the woods. But about 10 min later he said that he didn't feel too well, so he went back to the car and drove around and picked me up at the end of the woods.
A month later the Lord called my dad home.
After the funeral we had to help mom take care of dad's stuff. My mom, sister, and brother came to me and gave me my dad's top-of-the line hunting knife. They decided that this knife that meant so much to my dad, should be passed on to me because I understood how much it meant to him more than anyone else.
I keep that knife in a glass display table in the living room. Once ever few years I take it out, oil it, think of my dad, and then carefully place it back in the glass case.
Is that knife sharp?
I don't have a clue.
It was about 8 years ago when my dad called me long distance and talked me into flying home for deer hunting with him and his hunting buddies. I did not actually have the free time to take off work but as dad had asked, I knew it was important to him so I went.
We had a ton of fun, and on top of it all, my dad shot the biggest buck that year with a massive rack. We had fun cutting up the deer on that last night. We drank, told lies and whispered things when the ladies came up to the shack to see how we were doing and to bring sandwiches.
I still remember dad so proud of his buck, using his big folder to skillfully cut the meat and hand it to me to be wrapped in the white paper.
Thinking back, I remember now how on the last day of hunting that dad had decided to walk with me in the woods. But about 10 min later he said that he didn't feel too well, so he went back to the car and drove around and picked me up at the end of the woods.
A month later the Lord called my dad home.
After the funeral we had to help mom take care of dad's stuff. My mom, sister, and brother came to me and gave me my dad's top-of-the line hunting knife. They decided that this knife that meant so much to my dad, should be passed on to me because I understood how much it meant to him more than anyone else.
I keep that knife in a glass display table in the living room. Once ever few years I take it out, oil it, think of my dad, and then carefully place it back in the glass case.
Is that knife sharp?
I don't have a clue.
