Hunting as a ritual was at the forefront of my youth. Elk and Deer hunts were more anticipated than Christmas. The chance to spend time with the older men in my rural community was a high point. At night when the whiskey flowed and stories were told, most forgotten because of grief or lose. I heard tales of men who served in WW2, in Northern Africa, the Pacific, and Europe. It was a great time to be a kid, they taught me how to hunt, shoot, and conduct myself as a man. I never would have heard the war stories because they were never mentioned until these gentlemen got together in this capacity.

I heard of concentration camps liberated, of hand to hand combat in the Pacific, making raisin wine in a wash tub in Africa, Germans floating in the Rhine after a battle.

These were the men that I wanted to be like.

They told me of the respect they had for the men they were fighting against, which surprised me. I lived a rich life in my youth, and didn't know it until I was grown. I thought all boys had men like this in their lives, until I joined reality as a young man, and left my peaceful world behind, and witnessed the deprivation and abuse that some families endured.

I’ve seen the world change, old men die, my father's generation erased to history. The world changed, in my opinion, for the worse. I'm an old dog now, trying to survive, passing my experience and skills to next generation. I may be insane, but I still have hope.

-Ishmael

Impressions of Moby Dick: Herman Melville and Modern Man?s Transcendental Journey

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