What My Dad Did Right
The air split from the sound of the rattlesnake. My heart pounded, and my legs shook.
"Here," Dad said, tossing me a shotgun shell.
I was 10 years old, and like Barney Fife, had to carry my gun unloaded. I loaded, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. The shot severed the snake's head, and the rattling slowly faded to silence.
Today that rattle sits in a cigar box with other treasures from my past. It reminds me of a great day in the field with my dad. I was a preacher's kid with many religious experiences, but the things that spiritually affected me most were the nonreligious experiences with my dad.
My dad could teach spiritual principles from the most ordinary circumstances.
He brought me into his world
When Dad walked out the door, I was invited. When he played golf with his preacher friends, I rode in the golf cart. Yes, he had to tell me to be quiet, to stand back, and a dozen other rules. But I learned them.
I rode in the pickup with him and his buddy Red Moore when ...
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