Filling the gaps

My grandfather taught us many things. Life-lessons you might say. For one thing, he taught us how to work—cut grass, pull weeds, rake leaves, shovel snow. It was good experience, and it gave us steady, year-round income as kids. He was also the source of a nonstop supply of bats, balls, hockey skates, fishing rods, and other equipment so essential to kids growing up in Minnesota.

Throughout his life my grandfather was an active outdoorman. He spent a lot of time in the "field." Evidently as a young man he was injured in a hunting accident. We never knew much about it, just that some buckshot had to be removed from his shoulder. I remember asking him about the incident. I was surprised when he told me that he never went back into the woods with the man who let it happen. As a child, I had trouble understanding why an accident (even a severe one) could separate these men for life. It wasn't until later that I began to see how difficult it can be to forgive when some "unforgivable" act has been committed, and how impossible it can seem to actually forget.

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April 29, 2002
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