Well, my friends. As most of you know, due to certain circumstances, I moved back home. I was my plan to move back into the “area” to be close to the family… but not this close. Although living at home after graduating college is by no means the ideal situation, being here with the family does have its blessings. Aside from the monetary bonus (not paying rent), I have great friends and I have gotten much closer to my family which I am very thankful for. You never know what is going to happen in the future. And if I didn’t live at home, I wouldn’t have stories like this to share with all of you…..
ahem….
So, one morning, rather recently, I woke up to the sound of gunshots. Now let me preface this. Yes, we did live next to a Murder. Yes, we did live next to a drug dealer… but really; our town isn’t THAT bad or that dangerous. Plus, we really are the only people who live on our street. So, I was awakened. I use the word “awakened”, not “startled”, “woke up in a furry”, “scared” or even “worried” for that matter. It was more just opening up my eyes to the familiar sound of this particular gun and said to myself “uuuggg… 9 mm”.
Then heard a few more shot fired. Still in my unalarmed state, I sauntered over to the window facing our back yard. I leaned out the window and discovered (not to my surprise) my father, on our back porch, in his underwear and t-shirt, shooting his close range, 9 mm gun that he used while he was a detective on the force, at the very far way, nearly invisible ground hog. I watched as he continued to shoot a few more.
“That’s 8.” I said to myself. “If he is following Police procedure, there should be one more in the barrel.” He shot again, making my prediction correct. I wondered if he had another clip
Nope.
He came into the house after a hard morning of “hunting” the ground hogs that climb into our cars and chew up the electrical wires, leaving us with us with hundreds of dollars of damage and car whose lights go berserk. This is what happens when you put a country boy in New Jersey.
Me: “Did you get any”
Dad: “no… my gun is for close range”
Me: “Why don’t you use a riffle?…. More importantly, why don’t you wear actual cloths?”
Dad: “What does that have to do with anything?”
Me: “I guess that’s a valid point…”
I love my dad... with stories like these, how could you not?
~A
ahem….
So, one morning, rather recently, I woke up to the sound of gunshots. Now let me preface this. Yes, we did live next to a Murder. Yes, we did live next to a drug dealer… but really; our town isn’t THAT bad or that dangerous. Plus, we really are the only people who live on our street. So, I was awakened. I use the word “awakened”, not “startled”, “woke up in a furry”, “scared” or even “worried” for that matter. It was more just opening up my eyes to the familiar sound of this particular gun and said to myself “uuuggg… 9 mm”.
Then heard a few more shot fired. Still in my unalarmed state, I sauntered over to the window facing our back yard. I leaned out the window and discovered (not to my surprise) my father, on our back porch, in his underwear and t-shirt, shooting his close range, 9 mm gun that he used while he was a detective on the force, at the very far way, nearly invisible ground hog. I watched as he continued to shoot a few more.
“That’s 8.” I said to myself. “If he is following Police procedure, there should be one more in the barrel.” He shot again, making my prediction correct. I wondered if he had another clip
Nope.
He came into the house after a hard morning of “hunting” the ground hogs that climb into our cars and chew up the electrical wires, leaving us with us with hundreds of dollars of damage and car whose lights go berserk. This is what happens when you put a country boy in New Jersey.
Me: “Did you get any”
Dad: “no… my gun is for close range”
Me: “Why don’t you use a riffle?…. More importantly, why don’t you wear actual cloths?”
Dad: “What does that have to do with anything?”
Me: “I guess that’s a valid point…”
I love my dad... with stories like these, how could you not?
~A