It’s a Man Thing
by Jennie Guido
I think I’ve mentioned before that we grew up spending time together as a family; and with a family of girls, Dad was a little outnumbered when it came to extracurricular activities. Aimee and I never made him attend too many dance and piano recitals, but he was always front-row center for every Historic Natchez Tableaux performance over the years.
When it came to hunting and fishing, Dad was usually on his own for all of those “man things.” However, Aimee did take up dove and deer hunting while we were in middle and high school. Now when it came to dove hunting, we all went for the ride since we were able to play with our Labradors for the day.
Some Saturday mornings during deer season, Dad would get lucky enough to have the entire family tag along to the woods. Up bright and early and decked out in at least three layers of clothes, we would head out with our flashlights to the “hut” that Mom and I would occupy during the hunt. Once we were settled, Dad and Aimee would head off to their stand to watch for the big buck. Mom and I would huddle together and wait for sunrise. Once the sun came up, we would break out the books and catch up on the latest in literature. Truth be told, that big buck probably walked right in front of us and snickered at his own luck.
As for hitting the lakes for fishing in the summer, that never really was my favorite activity. I grew up enjoying warmer temperatures at the Belwood Country Club pool and riding around on golf carts. In the fishing boat, we had to stay in a still boat floating around waiting for a bite. And I’m not a patient person. On the few-and-far-between trips I made fishing, I could usually be found on the ice chest between the two seats trying to revive the minnows that had bellied up or trying to avoid the crickets hopping around in their baskets.
One trip in particular always comes to mind. I was pretty little, but I was old enough to remember the events of the day. We were fishing along; I was in Dad’s lap probably taking a little siesta. All of a sudden, a cricket got free and landed on my neck. I know the little thing wouldn’t have hurt me, but I was in shear panic at the thought of that varmint on my neck. To this day, I’m not a fan of anything creepy or crawly; and I’m sure it all stems from that one time I tried to be a part of those “man things.”
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