A Letter to My Nephew

Several years ago my nephew, who was in the Army Reserves, was being deployed to Afghanistan. I couldn't make the trip from Ohio to Oregon to attend his going away party. They asked me if I could write up some memory that he might take with him instead. I did that very thing. I was thinking about it the other day, and thought you might find it entertaining. So here is the "memory" I wrote for my nephew David.

I’m not sure what you write to a man who is about to go off to a foreign land to serve his country in war. I suppose the obvious thing to say is keep your head down and do the right thing. But, what sort of memories can I supply that lends support to this idea? There is one that I still enjoy remembering.

I remember a boy of 11 or so sitting in a boat with his father and uncle (me) as his grandfather steered them down the Owyhee river near Leslie Gulch. We were headed to the next canyon to hunt for chukars, a wild partridge that lives in the desert hills. The boy was clutching his first .22, a Marlin tube magazine semi-automatic rifle, watching the ridges and hillsides carefully for the chance to shoot at something meaningful. At his side was his younger sister nagging him about anything and everything that came to mind, as she was often wont to do.

As the boat came around a bend, would you believe two coyotes appeared on the long, steep sloping mountainside at least a hundred yards or more away. They paused to watch the boat go by.

For some reason, call it the instinct of the wild, suddenly these coyotes must have realized they were looking at a killer on the river. They both turned and ran diagonally upslope in the same direction the boat was traveling, their hind feet coming up past their ears in their haste. Our lad, finally finding something useful and heroic to shoot at, filled the air with lead. As the bullets hit the hillside, dust flew up all around the two galloping creatures. Those little clouds of dust chased those coyotes for a long way up that slope.

He ran out of bullets 18 shots later and could only stare as the two beasts became tiny specks far up the mountain. His grandfather, father and uncle roared great shouts of approval and exclamations of delight at the show. They praised his prowess and the good shooting that surely had put a lifetime of fright into those two wily creatures.

His sister, once all had calmed down, offered how he might actually have hit one of the coyotes had he only aimed a little better.

Personally, I like that he didn’t shoot one of those coyotes, since the story would not be nearly as much fun if he had. On the other hand, that young boy was ready and willing when the chance offered, and I can’t think of a better testimony than that for what he is soon embarking to do in Afghanistan. But, if in this new adventure he should be faced with a similar circumstance, I’m with his sister: aim better.

Uncle Mike