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The Recycled Excuse

Hunting for the right excuse can sometimes be difficult.

*Life in a small town. (AI)

Growing up in a small town often led us all to take some things for granted: riding bicycles and playing in the streets, being allowed to walk to the store for snacks without supervision, staying at home by ourselves for extended periods of time. I can remember when I was about ten or so, my mother began letting my siblings and me ride the bus unaccompanied from our home town to our grandparents’ some forty miles away. These things all seemed perfectly natural until I left home to attend college. That was when I was introduced to big city life and all the dangers it entailed. Going to school with those who had grown up in larger towns and cities opened my eyes to just how different our experiences were.

Classmates and roommates alike found it unbelievable that we were allowed to have our own guns and go hunting with our friends with nary an adult in sight. Looking back on it now, I do wonder sometimes why we were granted such freedom, but we had it nonetheless.

*Results of a 14 year old driver. (AI)

On one occasion we borrowed my friend’s dad’s car to go pheasant hunting. What started out as a normal hunting trip plummeted quickly into chaos. The object was to park the car, set about walking through the fields stirring up prey, and then skillfully and carefully knocking the more colorful rooster pheasants out of the air with hundreds of pellets spraying from the barrels of our shotguns. But it was not long before we were barreling down country roads with multiple firearms spewing forth from every window of the vehicle shooting anything that moved: pheasants (male and female), ducks, geese, rabbits and anything else we deemed worthy to die. Everyone took turns driving (being properly licensed to operate a motor vehicle in the state of Texas was irrelevant to our mission). At one point, our newly instated 14 year old motor vehicle operator (who apparently was shooting and driving at the same time) lost his command of the car; our hunting party then found itself spinning uncontrollably down the road, then plowing through a barbed wire fence, and finally coming to a dead stop in the middle of a cornfield. Except for a few scratches across the roof of the car and a flat tire, all else was well.

*No rabbits in sight. (AI)

On another hunting trip (and this is the main focus of our story), a neighbor boy and I were setting out to hunt rabbits. You know those “wascaly” ones like Elmer Fudd liked to torment. We were a little younger at this time than in the previous narrative, and so our weapons of (our parents’) choice were BB guns. We lived on the outskirts of town, and it was only a short 2 or 3 minute walk to the highway. Just on the other side of this roadway were endless barren open fields of nothing but wild rabbits. Our object on this particular day was to kill as many as we could. Shooting a rabbit scampering across an open field was a skill that we had both perfected over the last couple of summers. We were like a pair of outlaws mowing down the posse that had been sent to nab us.

We had been on this kind of trip many times, and had everything down to a science. For it was not only the skills of hunting we had to remember, but also the fact that our mothers had given us strict orders on when to be back home for supper. Out here in the fields we were in charge, we were men, we were the kings of our domains; but at the end of the day, when that bell rang, we were still just boys stifled under the authority of our mothers who were rulers of the roost; regardless of the location or time of day.

We had always made it back on time, and so whenever we had the opportunity to head to the fields with guns in tow, our mothers would often extend some of our privileges. Sometimes this might mean we could stay out later, or perhaps they might let us stay up past our bedtime. Regardless, we found that keeping ourselves in check kept our mothers happy, which in turn allowed us some extra freedoms; but what preteen boy can keep this amount of self-discipline going on forever? All good things must come to an end, someone once said.

*The perfect excuse. (AI)

It was unfortunate for us on this particular day that the rabbits were doing a much better job of hiding than usual, or just plain avoiding us. We had traversed the fields several times; our luck seemingly failing us at every turn. Each step we took was one step further from home, and the hands on our watches were not slowing down; not a modicum of sympathy or understanding for our plight. We normally would wander as far away from town as we could; keeping check to make sure we could make it back safely and into our dear mothers’ arms before our allotted time had expired. When we had reached that midway point, our hands empty of the desired prey, we realized that we must go on further, with nothing but hope in our arsenal that we would be able to return home on time, and not emptyhanded. We decided to continue on, with the idea in mind that our return journey would simply require a quicker cadence of “pick ‘em up, and put em’ downs”.

When we finally reached what we considered to be the absolute point of no return, our game bags were empty, our lungs were deflated and our hearts were listless. We sat down to catch our breath and to make an attempt to think up some veritable excuses that would be impossible to be denied by our accusers. When we at last set out to meet our fates, my greatest excuse had been spawned: I had forgotten to wind my watch, and thus I did not know how late it was.

We arrived home about a half hour late. My mother was a little upset, but once I explained our dilemma, she accepted it without hesitation or even a hint of doubt. Mother was usually about 3 steps ahead of me in all situations, so I realized this as one of the greatest victories in my young life. I only received a slight reprimand to pay better attention next time with no other punishment following.

*All good things must come to an end. (AI)

The next evening we were allowed to return to our old hunting grounds once again. Luck was not to reward us this day any better than she had the previous. We returned home; dragging our feet in desolation, our bags once again empty, and unfortunately with the same meager excuse. Weaker now for already having been used. When we arrived once again half an hour late, my confidence in using the same excuse twice in a row was shattered when my mother simply said,

“You used that excuse yesterday, it won’t work today. Go to your room. No hunting for two weeks.”

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