Dead Things

Tis the season....
Time for my dad to haul the whole family to the Pike River Rendezvous. Its a family thing. My dad is friends with a couple Indian dudes and fur trappers. This is my dads element. My dad is the quintessential Mountain Man. I indulged my dads friend for the billionth time in a row about the dead things hanging from his hat and laying all around him. "So, what is that little white dead thing?" "Something like a weasel" he says. "aaahhhh" (Sarah translation... EWWWWW!! Why the hell you want 2 of those things hanging on each side of your face?) Creeps me out a bit.

Anyway..... moving on... Tomahawk Toss. Ok...here's the thing. My father is NOT a sports guy (not saying he's not athletic, just sayin he could care less about sports in general) No, we were not the family that had tag football games in the back yard, softball games, etc. We had a huge tree stump on its side that we shot throwing stars, knives and tomahawks at. That was our sport dad taught us growing up. So in other words, my brothers and I haven't a clue the rules of football, but we can throw a knife on target 99 % of the time.

It took my dad a while to teach me (me, being "the girl") but I came to him when I was little and told him "Dad, I want to throw tomahawks too. Could you teach me, and make me a pink one?"
(I figured, if it was pink and girlie, he wouldn't mind teaching me along with the boys) Sooo...twas done. I learned to throw with a pink tomahawk that my dad made just for me. Still have it too.

Its been a while since I've thrown so I was pretty pleased when I sunk those suckers into the wood. ;) Im pretty sure my dad lit up inside. Yea, dad, I haven't fogotten. ;)

I think when Wyatt gets older, I'll have to think long and hard before I hand over a tomahawk or throwing knife. I may just stick to throwing softballs.