Parker Gun Collectors Association Forums

A Christmas tradition in the Wood family is that everyone gets together on Christmas Eve at a the home of a relative selected by random drawing. This year it was our turn. There were aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, in laws and out laws or so it seemed.

Dinner was an extravaganza of enough food to feed a third world country. There was roast venison, turkey and ham. More salads and casseroles than you can imagine and the deserts well lets just say the families respective dentists were smiling. The kids tables were in the kitchen and three leaves were put in the dining room table to squeeze the adults into.

After everyone ate to much the adults went to the living room and shared egg nog or other meaningful beverages and the kids went to their assorted electronic devices. Some board games were played and stories told and retold. There were laughs, lies and tears as we remembered the ones that we lost this year.

It was a tough year for the families. Dad passed just after Christmas from cancer the year before. He fought a combination of bladder and prostate cancer, diabetes and dementia. God was better to Mom as she passed quietly in her sleep at age 90. My mother in law passed November 29 also from cancer. She fought hard for two years. The doctors sent her home from the hospital the end of September and told us there was nothing more they could do. We should call Hospice and get things in order. I went to the Upper Peninsula for the month of October figuring I'd have to come home any time. The evening call home was always about the same. "How's your mom doing?" "About the same" was the reply. Some days were good some not.

It was a rainy and crappy month weather wise as there were 18 days in a row of measurable participation in the form of either snow or rain. Towards the end of the month my wife said "If you want to see my mom you might want to come now". I was packed and on the way home by 7am the next day. When I saw Vivian she said hello and was glad to see me. Her spirits were good all things considered. She said "I don't know why I'm still here". I replied "I don't know the answer either but it's not up to us. I do want to thank you for October however". She smiled closed her eyes and and went to sleep. She fought for another month before losing her battle.

With the kids tucked away in bed and the adults enjoying their spirits I slipped quietly away to the Man Cave with a glass of Jack Daniels Single Barrel and just a couple of ice cubes. I went into the gun room and just looked around, there is such a clutter. On a peg are the dog collars of companions who I hunt with in spirit only now. I handled each one and remembered them as individuals. Some were good, some just so so and a couple were exceptional but all were special in their own way. I opened the humidor for just a sniff of cigar as my wife hates the fact that I even smoke these things even if it's just occasionally. To smoke one in the house is forbidden and I have never done it. The Davidoff was on top and beckoned to me that this was the time to enjoy it. An extravagant gift from a friend I vowed to save it for a special occasion.

I pulled the stool away from the reloading bench and set the glass on the window sill and ever so quietly opened the window and fired up the stogie. I was positive I was cool with the whole thing, the door was closed the widow open and I blew the smoke directly out the window. I was in and prided myself on the subterfuge I was committing.

I opened the safe and there next to Dad's Parker was a jar of Strawberry jam. An odd thing to be in the gun safe and I had forgotten it was there.
Mom was quite the wiz in a kitchen and she made the best preserves. She did it the way here Mom taught her using Certo in the making and paraffin to seal the jar.

At her funeral my eight year old nephew Ben came and asked "Uncle Rich does God like Strawberry or Raspberry"? He had a small jar in each hand and said he wanted to send a jar to heaven with Grandma. I said "well I'm not sure but Strawberry is a universal favorite and it was Grandmas favorite also". I lifted him up and he tucked the jar in next to Grandma and said one last goodbye.

I picked up Dad's Parker, a VHE 20 that he bought slightly used when he came home from the war. He found it tucked away for sale among pump guns and semi autos a relic of the past in a hardware store in Gaylord Michigan. The store owner didn't know much about the gun. Did the previous owner give the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom? Was it being sold by the widow of the owner who needed the money and had no one to pass it down to?

As I ran my hand over it's worn exterior I felt the ever so slight dent in the right barrel near the muzzle. I remember this as if it was yesterday. We were grouse hunting and a hard and fast bird crossed left to right. Dad swung hard to catch up with the bird and I heard the barrel hit the popple tree stopping his swing and the clear crisp October air turning blue with words I'd never heard him speak before.
The gouge in the stock was as fresh as the day I put it there over 40 years ago. I was crossing a barb wire fence and got my pant leg caught. I gave a jerk and my jeans gave way but the wire snapped up and a bard caught the stock. I was positive I was in deep trouble with Dad. He commended me on emptying the gun before I crossed the fence but suggested next time I might want to carefully lay the gun down then cross the fence. To this day I have never crossed a fence with a gun in my hand.

By now the Davidoff was a memory of burnt ash and the glass was just melted ice. I closed the window and headed upstairs. The table was full of presents and the kitchen island held a vast array of wrapping paper. My wife asked "you ready to get started ?' Yes I replied. "Did you remember to close the window"? Once again I replied with a sheepish "yes" and thats all that was said.

As the gifts were wrapped for the morning's festivities it came to me that the best gifts aren't under the tree. It's a crisp October morning with Dad's Parker and a bird dog and sharing the hunt with him and all the other dogs before. It's a jar of homemade jam spread on an English muffin with your morning coffee. It was October. It's the friends we make as we travel down the road of life and when we take an unexpected detour or hit a pothole it's those things that we reach down into our souls and retrieve that help get us through the rough patches. Those are the greatest gifts we can ever hope to receive.