But when we pulled off the tarp, we were faced with what looked like a mortally wounded boat. The hull was riddled, from one end to the other, with holes suspiciously similar in size to those made by long bullets from a Winchester .22 pump rifle. It was a sickening site, especially for those of us suddenly and unexpectedly caught up in pangs of irremediable guilt. As for Roger's dad, well, it was painful to see a grown man cry like that. But such is a man's devotion to his first canoe that he and Roger spent countless hours patchin' the thing back up again with aluminum rivets and whatnot.
First loves die hard.
Eventually, their labor of love made that boat seaworthy again. In fact, I do believe it was eventually handed down to Roger who taught his kids to paddle in it. But I'm willing to bet he was a lot more careful about where he taught 'em to shoot. Well, 'til next time, remember where your boat is. And keep in touch.