Crosshairs

A young boy learns the perils of hunting fair game firsthand

Standing with one eye shut in front of the shooting gallery at the county fair, Billy Hogan felt the crotch of his jeans tighten and raised his air rifle slowly. He didn’t budge. All the while his father’s words echoed in the confines of his mind: “You’ve got to get ’em when they least expect it, son! Ask yourself what Jesus would do, and your aim will be true.” His father stood directly behind the boy with his brawny arms folded. Billy felt his hard stare driving him to succeed.

He studied the yellow ducks passing by, watching them with deadpan eyes and knocked them down without missing a beat.

* * *

On one of their frequent trips into the dense woods behind their house, Billy’s father, a big bearish man with a grizzly beard, usually bagged a deer, or sometimes a bunch of squirrels, with four bullets, one for each of his victims. He never wasted a shot, no matter what.

Mr. Hogan taught his son how to focus on his target, at all costs. He stressed the importance of waiting until the prey appeared in the center of the telescopic site before taking the shot. “Like a martyr on the Cross” was the phrase he used to make the concept easier for young Billy to grasp. In Sunday school, the boy learned that a martyr was someone who…