All you know about Mr. Finn, my Pap, are mighty fearful things. You know about as much as those church lady's that talk about his ways at their Sunday tea. But I reckon I know him better than you or those church lady's. See, he's not all bad. Sure, often he gets plenty drunk, can get mighty troublesome, and awfully mean. But ain't we all like that. I reckon so.
I never once felt angered at my pap, not even when he's drunk and whips me black n' blue. I never feel sorry for myself for having a good-for-nuthin father. That is because I knowed him before you did and he weren't troublesome atall. That is, up until my mam died and the drinking started. He has his reasons for bein' low down, just like I have mine.
Before my mam, Ida, died I remember my pap bein awful sweet to her. Sometimes they'd go to Friday night dances together even though they weren't courting and already married. Sometimes, when my pap came home from chores he'd even give her a pec on the cheek. And on moonlight nights, when the fire popped and crackled and made fearful shapes dance on the wall I could see the shadows of my mam and pap sitting on the chairs in front of the fire, together wrapped in a warm like blanket. She would rest her head on his shoulder and they would whisper and laugh through the night.
But things weren't always happy. But things ain't ever perfectly happy. See, I have no doubt that they loved each other. Least at first. Then, my mam started to get awful sick and couldn't handle the house work and takin care of me. At first she began dropping things as her hands shook, then she began to cough and faint, from there she got real bad and couldn't leave her pallet. At first pap was a little angry, so he would give her a licking but he haint ever done nothin like that before. Then his lickings got worse as mamas health got worse and he began to yell at her too. Then one night, he was yelling at her extra loud, then he shout "How's a man supposed to get a thing done if his wife ain't around to take care of their childe!" Those where his last words to her. She died a minute or so latter, I was clutching her hand, knowing that for the rest of my life I would be alone.
The problem with pap was he was afeared that he couldn't take care of me on his own. And another problem was, he gave up to easily. He never tried to take care of me. But, I knew he could if he had only tried, because Iike I said I knew my pap before mam died. He was a mighty fine man...despite his quick temper.
...
On a hot summers morning, when the sun was already beatn' down on me and sweat was drippn' down my back like a waterfall, pap and I went huntin'. This was my first time handlin' a gun, and I weren't barely 5. Pap and I found a good spot to wait and we sat there for a considerable amount a time, till a little brown rabbit scampered into view.
"Now's your chance, shoot em!" He whispers.
I sat their for a moments time, my hands shaking as I aimed the loaded gun at the poor creature. More sweat formed on my brow. I couldn't do it, the rabbit haint done nothin wrong. But, pap would of been awful mad if I had not tried to shoot. So, I simply decided to miss aim...With the sound of the bullet shooting out of my gun I fell to the ground part in fear, part in the strength of the gun. And in a seconds time the bullet struck a tree only a few feet in front of me, jist to bounce back and whiz past my shoulder. I thought I had been shot on my right arm and I began to cry up a storm. My pap look real worried at first and began to shout and then he jist gave out a little chuckle and sat closer to me.
"Why, that ain't nothing. The bullet jist done and barely missed your arm." He said in a voice I'd never heard.
"No, I shot my arm Pap! I ain't about to kill a dern rabbit so I tried to miss." I sniffed, still crying.
"Looky here at yer arm, it ain't nothin but a scrape." My pap replied, liften my arm. "The only thing you should be afeared about is Mam fussing over that scrape."
I looked down at my arm and gave a half chuckle then paused to look up at my Pap, who was smiling."But ain't you mad...I tried to miss the rabbit."
"No I haint. I guess your to young to go a huntin anyways." Pap replied, resting his big, strong, hand on my shoulder.
That was the last time I ever felt that my pap loved me. So no matter what awful, down low, good for nothin things my pap does...I love him. Because I knowed that he once loved me.