A boy and a .410

My Grandfather passed from this life on November 25th.  Thanksgiving day and my 12th wedding anniversary.  I remember him as a happy man with a soft heart.  I don't have any memories of him being anything but kind and loving.  Some of my cherished memories from my youth are centered around his home town of Aurora Utah.  I caught my first fish at one of his favorite camping spots, Maple Grove.  My dad, brothers and I spent many days deer and elk hunting up Salina canyon.  My dad helped me shoot my first deer and elk near his home.  We would go to Aurora for the pheasant hunt each year and then to the church across the street for a hunters lunch.  I remember spreading old newspapers out on his lawn and preparing the pheasants for the table.  He and grandma never seemed to mind our mess.

I took my boys down to his house to let them share in the stories and kindness of their "Cowboy Great Grandpa".  They looked at him with such respect and awe.  I remember his big cowboy hands with years of hard work worn into them.  He rode his horse up until his 80's.  His big blue eyes, a trait that he has given my family and my boys, would fill with tears each time he told us goodbye.

Grandpa would lend my dad his .410 shotgun for us boys to use for our first few bird hunts.  I remember being very nervous to ask him if I could use it.  I was always afraid that he would not have it anymore or have lent it out.  I have loved that gun perhaps more than any other.  I have even been envious of my brothers as they carried the .410 on their first hunts while I carried a hard earned 12 gauge.  Last fall I was down at grandpa's house with my dad and asked him if I could borrow his .410 shotgun for an upcoming hunt.  He rose from his chair, which at 96 is a huge effort.  He walked to his coat closet and pulled out the gun.  He then held out the gun for me to take, but wouldn't let go.  I raised my eyes from the gun to his and he said "Don't bring it back."  He then let go of the gun and gave me a big smile.  To say I was excited would not do the moment justice.  I knew this gun held a very special place in my dads heart.  He used it for most of his boyhood hunts.  My dads initials are burned into the grip.  (I would like to have seen what grandpa thought of that.)  After we left, I offered the gun to my dad.  He said "If you don't want it then I would like to have it, but he gave it to you and I think that is special."  My whole soul wanted that gun and I think my dad knew it.  I told my dad that I will always take care of it.  He made me promise (not that it was necessary) to never sell the gun.  No changes will be made to the gun, only to keep it in working condition.  Every dent and ding represents a life fully lived.

I do know one thing.  My grandpa loved his family, my family and my four boys who will carry on his name.  My boys, wife and I loved him back.  Look after us and watch out for my boys, would you please Grandpa?