My father was an archer, not the greatest in the world by his own admission, but good. Good enough to hit his mark pretty much all of the time. I used to think it was so cool, he was so cool, he would show off a little and do tricks with arrows. I used to stand in awe and think my dad was a real life hero, like the ones in the storybooks I used to read. A little bit of age and a lot of teenage angst changed that. All my father would ever do is hunt for food and show off his tricks to the local children. I just didn't get it. He could be using his bow to fight for justice, not be a sideshow freak to entertain an audience. My Dad was, is and always will be smarter than me.
I picked up my bow to fight, I trained with it on my own every day and I got better and better with it each day. Then in my teenage arrogance, I challenged my father to a test of marksmanship. I exclaimed that when I won, I would go to join the military. Lend my bow to the great struggle of good versus evil. It was a grandiose Idea, but I was arrogant and brash enough to think that I could and would change the world. I would show my father what a real man with skill and the passion to use it could do.
My father just smiled his regular lazy smile and patted me on the head. At that moment, oh I hated him. Never the less he agreed to it. I drew back the string on my bow, fired three single shots straight after one another into the target in front of me. Each managed to strike the bullseye. I had done it, I was so convinced I had. Then my father calmly raised his bow, putting three arrows into it, he fired them off at the same time, splitting each of mine right down the middle. I stared at the target gob-smacked. My father simply put his hand on my shoulder and said, "When you can do that, you may just be ready." He then put down his bow, and to this day has never picked it up again.
I picked up my bow to fight, I trained with it on my own every day and I got better and better with it each day. Then in my teenage arrogance, I challenged my father to a test of marksmanship. I exclaimed that when I won, I would go to join the military. Lend my bow to the great struggle of good versus evil. It was a grandiose Idea, but I was arrogant and brash enough to think that I could and would change the world. I would show my father what a real man with skill and the passion to use it could do.
My father just smiled his regular lazy smile and patted me on the head. At that moment, oh I hated him. Never the less he agreed to it. I drew back the string on my bow, fired three single shots straight after one another into the target in front of me. Each managed to strike the bullseye. I had done it, I was so convinced I had. Then my father calmly raised his bow, putting three arrows into it, he fired them off at the same time, splitting each of mine right down the middle. I stared at the target gob-smacked. My father simply put his hand on my shoulder and said, "When you can do that, you may just be ready." He then put down his bow, and to this day has never picked it up again.
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