My Men Are Off Hunting

I used to hate hunting season. I grew up in Texas and stepdad #1 was a hunter. I don’t have any bad memories per se from his hunting, but when James first donned camo early in our marriage, all I could see was my stepdad and memories of drunken afternoons came spilling out.

Here’s the deal with my, well…erm, loaded parentage…I think for the most part stepdad #1 was a decent enough guy. He married my mom who already had two kids bringing with him, two kids from his own previous marriage — our own little Brady brunch. The truth is, they were clearly two young-ish people escaping bad marriages and trying to make a better life for themselves.

Aside from conjuring old memories, I didn’t want James hunting because that meant time away from me…me spewing that ol’ “If you loved me, you choose me over hunting!” bullshit. I remember distinctly seething and thinking “Uh, hell no” when reading the old saying:

I identified more with the dark, modified version…

I wasn’t quite Glenn Close, Fatal Attraction but I did have a wide, insecure, jealous streak. I was a hot mess with a lot of self-discovery, coming of age, work to do.

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