My dad's gun

The Herald Sun. 10.5.17

When he was a boy, my dad received a marvelous gift: his father’s own boyhood rifle.

It’s a beautiful object. Burnished wood stock, a thundercloud-grey barrel. After my dad died, it was the one thing I really wanted. At this moment – 2:45 a.m., cat stretched beside me in my Durham home, dog twitching on some dream chase, my daughter sleeping in her room – my dad’s gun hangs on my dining room wall.


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