Dream of: 23 November 1995 (2) "Why I Hate My Father"

While my mother and I were sitting in the living room of the Gallia County Farmhouse, someone came to the front door. My mother stood up, opened the door, and allowed two men to walk in and sit down. As soon as they started talking, it quickly became clear that the men wanted permission to explore the Farm. Their reasons for exploring the Farm weren't completely clear and I didn't particularly like the idea. However, my mother told them they could use the Farm if they paid a fee of $750. She also said an additional fee of $30 would be added to that.

To my surprise, one of the fellows said the price would be fine and he handed the money to my mother. He only gave her $775, however, and I thought he should have given her $790. I thought about just letting the extra money slide since the fellow was already paying so much; but then I reflected that I didn't even want the guy there to begin with, so I decided to make sure he paid the right amount – I told him the charge was $790. But then I stopped and recalculated in my mind and realized the total was only $780. He seemed a bit dismayed, but he acquiesced and paid the difference

My feelings for him somewhat mellowed. I talked with him and learned he had never been in this part of Ohio and that he knew nothing of the lay of the land. I walked over to the bookshelf by the front door, took out a map, and told the fellow I would lend him a map of the Farm if he would bring it back. He seemed happy to have it.

I decided to go even one step further: I would take the two fellows around and show them part of the Farm. Now, instead of my mother, my mother's mother Leacy was in the room with us. She, the two men and I walked outside where I had parked an unusual-looking vehicle, something like a motorcycle, only sitting on the ground like a snowmobile. The vehicle had a long slender seat, large enough for all four of us to climb on and straddle. With me in front driving, and my grandmother and the two men sitting behind me, I took off.

I first drove down some roads, then turned off into a trail through a field surrounded by woods. Up ahead lay a small ravine I would have to drive across. But just as I reached the ravine, I saw something and I came to a stop. There, in the bottom of the ravine, lay a large black bear – probably twice as big as me. I sadly looked at the bear, for now I remembered how it had come to be there. A few days earlier, my father and I had been on this same trail when we had come across the bear. My father had shot the bear and left it there to die. I loved to see wild animals on the Farm and I was extremely angry that my father had shot the bear. I turned to the others behind me and said, "That's why I hate my father; because he does things like this."

I became even more bothered when I noticed something else about the bear: it was still alive. When the bear looked up at us, I realized it had just been lying there suffering for two or three days. I didn't have long to pity the bear, however, because without warning, it started moving toward us. The bear was obviously wounded and in terrific pain; but if it were to grab one of us, it would still be strong enough to do deadly harm.

I quickly tried to back up my vehicle, but it wouldn't move – and the bear was getting closer. I hollered at the others to jump off, and everyone did so. We all began fleeing in different directions across the field. As I ran, I was particularly worried about my grandmother: she was old and couldn't run fast. I hoped she had enough strength to escape the bear.

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