By Daniel Motz Special Correspondent

I blame my friends for the great ideas that I have. I mean, if it wasn’t for them who would take me to do the things I love, like ice fishing? So, as I sat and watched a group of my friends and my brothers practice with their bows, obviously I needed to get in on this action.

Bow hunting is a sport that requires skill, patience and grace; obviously I was cut out for this! My wife of course being the constant skeptic (read that as realist) shook her head as I went to a pawn shop and picked up a recurve bow. It was pretty, wood finish with green paint. I felt like the Green Arrow the moment I put it in my hand. Maybe, I should blame binge-watching Arrow?

I’m not dumb, at least not in the truest sense of the word, but I knew enough to know that I wasn’t going to be able to pick up the bow and just start shooting like Katniss Everdeen. For one thing, my friends would not approve of the spandex pants. Actually, now that I think about it, no one in their right mind would approve of my butt in spandex. I think my wife started an online petition to make sure that it never will happen, under threat of incarceration, and possible fines.

So, we went to the range we set up for bow practice. It is sectioned off at twenty and thirty yard increments. This seemed like it was going to be fun, or at least something that I would be able to do and not hurt myself. I wasn’t a total fool, which is a rare thing for me to be able to admit. I bought the arm guard and the finger protection, I was pretty sure that I wasn’t going to injure myself. I was wrong.

Not only was I wrong but, I was wrong on the grandest of scales. As I pulled back the string my arms shook slightly, my body was in the shape of a T like I had seen in the instructional videos (Brave counts as an instructional video, right?) And I let it fly!

There was the TWANG that came next, followed by what I thought was my left arm being sliced in half. I had the arm guard on the right way, but when you have arms like King Louie from of the Jungle Book, there are problems that are often not foreseen. One of these problems is that the arm guard I bought was about a foot too short. Oh, did I mention that the arrow actually broke the space-time continuum and vanished into what I think might have been dimension X? Yup, someplace in an alternate dimension, I shot an alternate version of myself in the butt, with an arrow. I just know these things.

This continued for the next three shots I took. The order was pretty simple, TWANG, swearing, and then finally “where did that thing go?” I feel bad for the slow painful death of alternate universe me, but these things need to happen in the name of hunting.

This wouldn’t have been so bad, but I was also giving my son the bow to practice with. He never took off pieces of his arm and sent them flying into space; he also never lost a single arrow. He did this because he was hitting the target. Not the board behind the target, and for sure, not the woods behind the board behind the target. He just hit the target, and most of the time he hit the target where he was trying to hit it. I think he has garden gnomes helping him out, but I can’t prove it.

Now, I have been trying to get better with the bow, because I knew that it was going to take practice. But the truth is, I didn’t actually pick up the bow to become the next Hawkeye. No, I actually started to work at hunting with a bow, because it gave my son and I something to do together. And, since he is constantly asking me to go out and shoot with him, I guess something is going right.

Like so many other hobbies I randomly pick up, I don’t always look at it as a matter of can I actually do it. If I did that, I would never leave the house. But, I look at it as a way to actually spend time with people I care about. In this case my son was interested, and so are a few of my brothers, both biological and makeshift adopted.