DAD’S SHOTGUN

In the summer of 2018, my son and I were finishing up a safari in Africa. Just as we were taking our seats on the plane in preparation for an 18-hour flight, my wife called with bad news. At age 85, my father had passed. Given the circumstances, that was hard news to share with his grandson, and it was a long time for a father and son to spend tightly compacted among strangers while contemplating the man and our loss.

Nearly a half-century ago, I’d follow my father through the forest. We’d be squirrel hunting, but back then there were a lot of ruffed grouse. Every so often, we’d flush one and as it thundered away, Dad would let me shoot at it with the old Winchester Model 37 410 shotgun I carried. I’d miss—I always missed—and Dad would gracefully shoulder his shotgun and with a