My mom and dad bought me a bow and arrows for my birthday.

I was twenty-eight years old.

Still gettin toys.

That?s how you know your parents don?t fully trust you as an adult yet.

They?re like here ya go buddy try not to kill yourself.

When I was a kid I used to make bows outta old sticks and a piece of rope I stole off whatever wasn?t nailed down.

Those arrows would fly maybe three car lengths and then just quit.

Thunk into a tree like they got tired.

Every second shot, I had to build a new one.

But when you?re a kid you?ve got patience and absolutely no concern for personal safety.

This one though

This thing came outta the box lookin like it was built to overthrow a small country.

Two thick nylon strings.

Fiberglass arch.

Arrow holder built right into it like it was sayin don?t worry we?ll make this easy for you to screw up.

I felt like Rambo for about six seconds.

Did I put shoes on

Nope.

Coat

Nope.

Common sense

Absolutely not.

Barefoot on the doorstep like a fuckin pioneer.

I pull the string back and immediately think I broke it.

My shoulders start screamin like I?m tryin to bench press a fridge.

I?m gruntin.

Neighbours probably think I?m giving birth.

My house is about a hundred yards from the road with a big open field in between.

In my mind this arrow was gonna land somewhere safe.

Halfway out.

Polite.

Respectful.

I let go.

That arrow left like it was late for work.

Bat outta hell doesn?t even cover it.

That thing whistled.

Then cracked.

Then ricocheted like it was playin pinball with my future.

It just missed a little brown Honda with ground effects.

Buddy slammed on the brakes and stared into the woods like Mother

Nature just tried to assassinate him.

I dove back in the house like a child who broke a window and blamed the wind.

Try explainin that to the cops.

Officer I wasn?t huntin I was just barefoot and dangerous.

My dad tells me maybe I should take a course.

Maybe hunt with him and my brother.

Preferably not aim at traffic like a fuckin idiot.

So we pull out this fake deer my dad bought at a flea market.

Thing?s got a big red kill zone painted on it.

Might as well say AIM HERE YOU MORON.

I couldn?t hit it if it walked up and introduced itself.

I?m hittin trees.

Fence posts.

My mother?s flower pots are droppin like they?re under sniper fire.

They tell me it?s like throwin a baseball.

Perfect.

Because I throw a baseball like I?m fightin off bees.

By the time my shoulders gave out, I?d shot the deer?s ear off

Took one of his legs

And knocked the tip of his nose clean off.

That deer looked like he lost a bar fight with a lawn mower.

I lost five arrows in the woods.

Bent two more.

Somewhere out there is a forest absolutely loaded with evidence.

That?s when I realized huntin probably wasn?t for me.

There?s likely deer walkin around right now with arrows stickin outta places they shouldn?t

Tellin their kids about the day some barefoot idiot almost took out a Honda.

I?ll stick to toys that don?t come with apologies.

?????????????...and that's callin' it like it is!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Canadian artist & digital troublemaker Colin John Cook shares his louder-than-life, awkward, and honest-as-hell stories. Packed with humour, real talk & creative insights in a no filter, digital comedy space that laughs at life & calls it like it is. He is also the Founder and President of

The Hidden Gallery - Art Studio & Micro Theatre

??