Happy birthday to the man who introduced me to the outdoors

I get more material for this blog, as well as a lot of stories for printed publications, from my dad. More than I should probably use, if truth be told. I pick on him a lot, but despite my merciless ribbing, he’s still a great sport about it all.

Part of the reason for his good attitude about my kidding could be that he knows he can’t really deny it. Sure, sometimes I exaggerate a bit, but it’s always based on the truth. And the closer to the absolute, exact way it really happened, the less room he has for objection.

Even so, there are times I probably shouldn’t poke fun. When he gets injured, for example, it would be much more polite of me to refrain from broadcasting his woes to all of you. But he has such a knack for injuring himself in such spectacular ways, I really can’t help myself.

Like the time the pack horse fell on him on the way to camp. I’ve talked about that one a lot. But that’s not the only example. There are plenty more. He broke his back when he got thrown from a horse, and he broke a leg and an arm when he bailed off another one. He’s stabbed himself in the foot and the hand on different camping trips, and he was once speared through the eardrum by a willow twig while he was fishing. He’s just a treasure-trove of mishaps when he heads outdoors, and mishaps are the best fodder possible for radio shows like this one.

But I don’t mean to make light of his injuries or ridicule him today. Today’s his birthday, so he ought to be able to spend the day without being picked on. And with any luck, he can make it through the day without breaking a bone or spilling any blood. Of course, if he tries to blow out all his candles at once, he might rupture something.

Happy birthday, Dad. Have a great day, and don’t hurt yourself.