I was walking down an old logging road on a public management area with my flintlock Beck rifle when an older guy pulled up in a Toyota Humvee looking vehicle. He looked at my rifle with a big smile on his face and said "YOU SHOOT A SPARKLER'! The conversation was on.
I am a non combat army vet (Germany) from 67-69, he was a retired Gunnery Sgt with 4 or 5 tours in Vietnam and 5 purple hearts. He was as jovial and happy as anyone I have met in the woods, we talked for at least an hour and then parted ways to go hunt.
I ran into him at a car wash that summer, he was wearing shorts, there was very little bare skin on his legs, just multiple patches of scar tissue and hunks of muscle missing from various wounds. He said him and his buddy had a contest to see who could be wounded the most, then he said "I won".
At this point I had so much respect for the man I wouldn't care if he called my rifle the worst pile of pig manure he had ever seen.
I am a non combat army vet (Germany) from 67-69, he was a retired Gunnery Sgt with 4 or 5 tours in Vietnam and 5 purple hearts. He was as jovial and happy as anyone I have met in the woods, we talked for at least an hour and then parted ways to go hunt.
I ran into him at a car wash that summer, he was wearing shorts, there was very little bare skin on his legs, just multiple patches of scar tissue and hunks of muscle missing from various wounds. He said him and his buddy had a contest to see who could be wounded the most, then he said "I won".
At this point I had so much respect for the man I wouldn't care if he called my rifle the worst pile of pig manure he had ever seen.
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