Roy never grew up
Hodgepodge by Charlie Hodge
I finally put the antlers away.
Roy had asked several times to have them taken down from the dining room wall, but Dad would never accommodate his request.
“Oh Roy, grow up and be proud of that deer. It was your first shot and a great shot at that. You’re simply being humble. Whenever you are away, I can look on the wall and think of you,” Dad would rebut.
I heard the conversation dozens of times when Roy was alive and a trillion more in my head when he died.
That damn deer, at the time of its demise, was just another deer for dinner from the forest behind the Atkinson property in Penticton. Dad would take my one and only brother hunting and or fishing at least once a week and they would return home with food. Between growing the crops and hunting we lived a reasonable life. Roy and Dad were both skilled fisherman and Dad a particularly ace hunter.
I was occasionally invited to hunt with both of them on trips into the woods, but not often. Father suggested my other sister, Mildred, and I, were better skilled for more ‘womanly’ designed things within the kitchen or house. It was the 1940’s after all.
Dad grew up around other men, hunting with his dad from childhood. He then spent a life in the army returning as a decorated veteran of the first world war. It was Dad who began the Penticton museum. Regardless, he loved his guns and hunting – and it rubbed off on Roy.
Roy on the other hand loved his little sister and would take me (‘my Doris’) fishing anytime he could sneak me away. It was those special moments I still hold close to my heart. We would talk for hours about everything and anything – girls, sports, mom and dad, football…He would let me read poetry.
While he enjoyed himself and was skilled in chasing football and girls Roy did not get much chance to pursue either before life got in the way. He was a gentle, kind soul, not mean-spirited or aggressive. Even in football he was too nice.
I teased him that he was overly sensitive- which I probably should not have done. He did not like the antlers on the wall because he was no longer proud of having killed the deer. No one listened.
Born in 1922 he was prime soldiering age when the second war was raging. Other Penticton Highschool lads such as Gregor Moore and Ross Murry had joined so in 1942 Roy enlisted and on July 28 I waved goodbye to my brother. I cried my heart out as I knew he was not coming home.
Roy joined the 9th Canadian Armored Regiment B.C. Dragoons as a Trooper. (Basically a private). Quite quickly (and ironically because of his rifle skills) he qualified as a gunner, probably the most dangerous tank job. In November 1943 his unit was shipped to the Italian front and immediately engaged in battle.
I waited anxiously for news from my brother, but no mail arrived.
On August 31 the Dragoons were involved in a bloody, major battle and lost 51 men.
On September 1 Roy’s tank was blown to smithereens by a number of German tanks.
Several years later, when Dad had to leave the family home and some things were being packed up I made a last-minute special trip into the old living room for one final visit. As I looked around the room my eyes locked onto the deer antlers, and I remembered all the discussions over the years about them.
How Dad never really heard Roy.
How Roy never grew up.
I took the antlers off the wall.
