The Ritual of October

October- my favorite month of the year! From the cool temperatures to the World Series, I love the fall. Every fall, I looked forward to the college football season and back to school, but mostly I loved to go hunting with my dad. Western mule deer hunting with Dick Cheever was a sight to see. He would load the old tent and sleeping bags and with a wry smile on his face load the truck with food and supplies. It was his time-his time to tell the old stories and get away from everything. As an adult I never have understood why he was willing to take kids with him. We could not keep quiet for one minute and there was not a chance of sleep the night before opening day.

I was a gatherer of firewood and my dad was the fire starter. He would drag a tree into the fire pit and dump white gas on the wood- in a Merlin the Wizard like move, he would toss the match and we had a flash and a roaring campfire.

After a dinner of canned chili and apples it was time for the gas pains and the stories-the never ending deer hunting stories. The one about the deer that was killed with my dad's pants around his ankles, the time he shot the huge buck and it had infection from porcupine quills and the time he prayed for the chance to shoot a buck. I remember the story about the time a mountain lion killed a doe by the tents in the night, it made me take pause after dark. Oh, and how I loved to hear about guns. The one sad tale was of the family that went hunting in the early 50's and a young man shot his brother in law through the lungs high in the thick pines. He mistook his movement for a deer. My uncle George, a well traveled WWII veteran took the dead man out on his horse. He had seen enough death and never packed a gun again.

I watched my dad drive through a creek bed after a blizzard and his red truck was spinning and made a huge splash and finally the truck was on the right side of the creek. I then knew we would not be stuck in the snowstorm- I truly felt safe with my dad.

I had the chance to take him to Colorado on a elk hunt when he was well into his 70's. He stood proudly holding his new 7mm Mag I bought him for the trip. I was honored to take him and he went along with all of the practical jokes. He always had his favorite foods with him and if he has eaten one tin of Kippered Snacks he has eaten a thousand. I am now sure that every deer in the county could smell the fish in oil when his tin lid cracked open. He did not care, he was a free man and wearing his red or orange sweatshirt and sitting on the saddle, a favorite place to lay back and glass the hillside. He was never a wealthy man but he was happy when hunting deer.

I learned at the hand of a master. I learned from a man of kindness and willingness for a youngster to take a shot first. He was willing to take family, friends and coworkers with him hunting deer. He grew a set of white whiskers and was a master with his 270- he built it and put a custom barrel on it. His brother brought the 8mm Mauser off a dead German soldier between Normandy and surrender of the Germans. It was his tool-deer hunting was his passion and like an artists brush, he used a 270 with a Swastika symbol engraved on the action.

If he was not successful he was content. As long as he saw a few or someone in the party got a deer he was good. He seemed even happier when one of his kids got a deer. I learned a great deal about my father from our October pilgrimage to Dairy Fork- our hunting spot for generations. I learned of his family, his mission and his love of God. He seldom complained and was generous and kind to those he brought hunting. We kids fought with each other and made way too much noise and he was gentle with his correction. I now sit in Las Vegas and wish I could go hunting just one more time with my father- Richard Cheever.

I will hunt many times in my life-but no more with my father. He is 83 years old and slowly losing his memory as the confusion of old age threatens his independence. He will not shoot a deer or pheasant again. I will make sure he gets out target shooting and I will throw as many clay pidgeons as he can shoot at. I do not have kids that like to hunt. I get to do that on my time. I also get to write down and focus on my October memories of the deer hunt. As the undignified loss of memory slides upon my dad I hope to be clear with my gratitude for his love, teaching and kindness every fall. He has been a gentle, simple man who lived for the fall ritual. He was funny, alive and honestly at his best- each October-on the deer hunt.

Power and How People Handle It

I recently returned from one week of testing dentists in Dallas, Texas. The oral board exam is two hours of tough questions for practicing Pediatric Dentists to become board certified. I am always amazed at the smart candidates and how many are willing to pay the price to reach the goal of board certification. The examiners are volunteers and are all successful in their profession. The thing that amazes me is how power goes to the heads of some of the examiners, who have all the answers to the exam in front of them.

When in a position to judge, we should be gentle and not assume anything about who we test. They may have English as a second or third language. They may have been in practice for twenty years or had a weak academic residency. When a blank stare follows my question I always restate the question. If they do not know I ask an easier question to assess the candidates basic knowledge of the subject. Then I move forward as the answers get clearer and stronger. I see smart people who let nerves get the best of them and some just do not show up for the test. They pay a good sum and travel far to take the exam and I am sure it is intimidating to face examiners.

I tested with man kind and gentle examiners and then I got "Bob". He asked every sharp question and cut off the interviewee in the middle of sentences. If the candidate was thinking he would immediately move on. I know I need to think and it takes time to go through the files in my brain. In fact, my brain is like an iceberg-it can only hold so many penguins. I watched Bob act so smart and "show that idiot" how much they did not prepare for the board. I was sick for the young lady who got him as an examiner. Even if she was not prepared-she deserved to be treated with respect and kindness. She was not the enemy-she was a colleague.

I have no interest in knowing Bob. He can be as smart as he wants. None of us are perfect. WHen I got home from Dallas, my power was out. There was the bill-with a check and a stamp. I called and paid by phone but the power did not come on that night. I had a flashlight and read and was hot as could be. As I laid in the dark I thought this must be what hell must be like. Dark, hot and mostly my fault. I did not want the lesson but I got it. I also found out I was not that smart.

All of us will be arrogant at times. We will all be incompetent at certain things. I am a believer that fair and kind behavior will ease our lives as well as those we come in contact with. Sarcasm and smug behavior seldom has a payoff. Compassion will always pay off in our lives. Bob can be Bob- based on my interaction he is an arrogant jackass and should not be an examiner. I would hope he will reevaluate his methods or be relieved as an examiner. When we are given power-any power we should be cautious and act as if we hold a sacred trust. Pimping a candidate is not fair or good form.