But I did not get the arrows. When I was nine
my best present was from my favorite uncle from
far away. A pocket knife, fishing pole with tackle box
Even a Red Rider Bee bee gun. His gift was first to be
opened. Not everyone appreciated his gifts especially
his sister my mother. I was the poorest kid on the block.
Usually my gifts paled compared to those of others. I
would get a football. Eddie would get a football, uniforms,
a helmet, and his dad sponsored the team.
But my stock improved when I got the bow and arrows.
My gift was the envy of the neighborhood. They were not
those kid friendly blunted arrows. Mine you could hunt
deer, goats, cows, the neighbors dog, a cat or two and we
couldn't wait to go bear hunting. It should have come with
a kids license kit.
What a toy to create a game. But there had to be rules for our
game. The shooter was the kids who the last arrow came closest to.
We would lay face up arms outstretched. You were chicken if
you ran. The shooter had an obligation. Some kids were afraid
to look and lay face down. You were really good if you could stick
it in between a kids fingers. You got points and could shoot again.
There is always a party pooper. Ours was my step father.It was a
particularity good shot. Right next to this kids ear I did not
like anyway. My step dad came running from the sidelines grabbed
the arrows and broke them over his knees. Grabbed the bow, me and
threw us in his truck. I was on a months restriction never to see
the bow again. But I did. I was forty--some. One Christmas night he
said to me, "I have something for you. You might be old enough now."
It was my bow now a collectors item. When my son was forty I replaced
the arrows and gave it to him.
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