I must have
been about eight years of age…maybe nine.
I was invited along on a camping trip with my uncle and aunt. They had two children at the time. My uncle was my idol. He was a former Marine
who had served in Korea. My memories of
that are vague. I remember a letter or
two we received from him that had the little red and blue ribbon like border edges
on the envelope. My mother read the
letter out loud, but my recall can’t pull up any details. He had come home safely and gotten a college
degree. He was now in a job that
involved working with young criminals, or those with significant momentum in
that direction. He new when a kid was in
trouble, or soon would be. He worked for
the county probation department.
I was a
farm boy. A good boy by all accounts, though
you would never prove that by the declarations of my paternal grandfather. We lived on the same farm. I was a curious boy which often led to things
being broken, turned off, turned on, lost or misplaced. Something in my DNA
demanded that I try things no matter how ill-advised it might be. In short, whatever happened on that farm was
automatically my fault. Sometimes, not
often, I had never even touched or seen the object that was missing or broken.
My “go to” line was, “I didn’t even know they had a freezer,” when my grandparent’s
freezer contents had somehow become unfrozen. I just accepted the blame for everything. It was easier that way. My redeeming trait was that I was
entertaining to the family. They all
liked me. Being the third born, I was
the poster child for characteristics of the youngest in the family. The rules didn’t apply to me.
Keeping the
above characteristics in mind, it is important to note that I grew up in a
hunter/gatherer kind of family. We grew
and killed things and ate them. When I
would see an undomesticated animal my first thought was often, do we eat that,
and can I kill it. I wasn’t violent. I
was a hunter at heart.
I noticed
when we chose our camp site there were numerous nondescript birds flying around
that, no doubt, had learned there would soon be scraps of food when humans came. I was intrigued watching them. Inside my mind
there was a conversation taking place. Can I
catch one, and how would I go about it was the burning question. I decided the use of a projectile would be
the best choice. I scattered some crumbs
on the ground a few feet away, found a suitable throwing rock and hid behind a
bush. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before a bird landed to take what had been
left. I let fly with the rock in my hand
and hit the bird squarely as it was picking up the crumbs. It flopped a bit and could not fly away. A clean hit…a kill. Well not yet a kill, but with another rock I
finished the task very quickly. I looked
around and my two much younger cousins were watching me. I had just murdered a living creature. They were town kids. They were horrified. I was promptly ratted out and to say the
least, I became “persona non grata” for the rest of that camping trip.
I am sure
that my actions deeply troubled my uncle.
He knew that any kid who would kill or torture animals would likely
become the next serial killer. It was
only a matter of time until I would face him in juvenile hall. I guess he didn’t consider my offense anyway
similar to his when he showed my older brother and me how to make sling shots to
shoot feral cats who were making tracks all over his new car. Not an approved activity for a probation
officer, but we loved it.
I never became
a serial killer. In fact, I no longer
hunt. I don’t need the meat and I get no pleasure from killing animals for the
sport of it. I have no problem with those
who do, as long as they process and use what they kill. In fact, I have never been arrested for a
misdemeanor, vandalism or even a curfew violation. To be honest, I should say I have never been
caught in any of those activities. Since
my career as a lifetime criminal never panned out, I became the next best thing…a
preacher.
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