Follow Carmen, a young and deeply closeted gay teenager as he navigates the 1980's and 1990's yearning for love and trying to find where he fits in.
This story is rated M because it contains elements of death (including children), homophobia, religi...
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***CONTENT WARNING*** This chapter depicts my first deer hunting trip. It was a successful hunt, and therefore mentions the killing of a deer. I realize that hunting is not for everybody, and I also realize that some are actively against hunting, but this event was a big part of my growing up and also had a big effect on my relationship with my father. If you do not wish to read about a hunting trip this chapter can be skipped.
Summer ended, school started up again, and this was the end of my father and I getting along. It started right out of the gate when we had a huge argument about course selection. Throughout elementary and junior high school everyone took the same classes, but I was entering high school now, and everyone chose their own classes. I had wanted to take courses that interested me, such as shop class, drafting, art, and computers. Dad would hear none of it though, instead insisting that I enroll only in Academic Prep (AP) classes. He even went to the school to make sure that I was taking the classes that he wanted me to take.
This act of his would ensure my misery for the next several years. As was the case with junior high, I could not force myself to pay attention to things that did not interest me. Also as with junior high, I was able to skate through by doing very well on tests, which made up for my poor classroom participation and my not doing assignments or homework. Oddly, there were a few subjects that I did reasonably well in: Math, Physics, Chemistry, and English, but that was because I found Physics and Chemistry interesting, and with Math and English my teachers made it interesting. In other subjects (Biology, Geography, French, and Canadian History) I was dreadful.
Still, on weekends Dad would be drunk and we'd get along again. The end of October came, and with it my first trip to the Camp as an adult. It was the first week of deer season, and Dad actually told me I was going there as an adult (he had gotten me out of school for the whole week). After we had packed all of our gear and were on our way Dad turned down the radio and started talking.
"Son, we're going here as adults, as friends, not as father and son. We're gonna be around the boys (dad's childhood friends and hunting buddies). There is going to be lots of drinking, lots of pot smoking, lots of stories, lots of bullshitting. What happens at the Camp stays at the Camp. I don't want you running home and telling your mother everything you see or hear up here. Understand?"
I looked over at my brother Mark, who had gone through this same ritual three years ago and was already considered one of the boys.
"Yes", I said. "Does that mean I can smoke and stuff?"
"No! I don't want you smoking. Or drinking. And definitely no smoking pot. But you can swear like a sailor if you want, as long as you can turn it off before you get back home."
Drinking wouldn't be an issue, I didn't like it anyway. I wasn't really interested in the weed either. But, like it or not, Old Man, I was definitely gonna be smoking, even if I had to do it out of your sight.
