One Fine Saturday
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| Corey at Fish camp |
It was the crack of 9:30 when I woke him. “Good morning Bubba.” My son Corey, curled into a ball on a Saturday morning was riding out a sweet sleeping-in session. Enduring his first week of Junior High School at SuValley was none other than a big deal and lord knows the guy needs his rest. Growing several inches in the last year puts him just above my hairline but since that too is raising each year I figure that I’m good for another few months or so.
Juggling two new lockers with tricky combos along with seven different classes was exciting to him but also draining. On top of it all one of his crazy new teachers had him run a whole mile and do a bunch of strange exercises too.
Smack-dab in midst of the foggy existence of pubescence, he is a textbook case: Argue, eat, sleep, argue, eat, argue, sleep. The wife and I having endured our own such period so long ago, have also spent considerable time shepherding hundreds of other adolescents through their-own fog as well. Despite all of this valuable experience it seems to have added only dubious wisdom to the rearing of our own.
To his credit and our own, Corey is a sensitive, sweet boy with a golden heart. He wears his heart on his sleeve, is quick to laugh and is visibly uncomfortable when his sister or the new puppy is scolded or disciplined.
He loves to hunt and fish and on this morning it was easy to get him out of bed. “Corey there are a bunch of grouse in the driveway.” Suddenly, as if he was only feigning sleep he jumped out of bed and with excitement in his eyes and wild bed-hair he responded “Where?”
“Come on, I put your rifle on the bed.” We made our way down the stairs. Corey grabbed the rifle. I handed him a box of .22 shells and together we made our way out the front door to face the unknown barrage of winged interlopers. One of us was fully dressed.
Without burden of shirt, or socks, donning only sweats and crocks. Corey led the attack down the driveway.  |
| Corey Harrison |
