Deep in the mountains of north Georgia there is a quaint little pond hidden by a canopy of trees and mountaintops. The pond belonged to my grandfather, Darwell F Davis. It was his pride and joy. Being a man of strong Alabama tradition, there was nothing in the world he loved more than fishing, besides maybe a little green johnboat and a dog named Spankey.
One summer I was invited up to the greenbelt to spend a weekend on the pond fishing with my grandfather. I was thrilled by the invitation and squirmed in my seat the entire 3 hours up the mountainside to the secluded pond.
When I finally got there I could see my grandfather standing like a soldier prepared for battle armed with fishing line and rod with Spankey at attention by his side. We quickly boarded the vessel boat and set off across the glassy water hanging a trotline from one side to the other.
When we reached the first hook the next day, I was literally shaking with anticipation and excitement. Spankey and I rushed to the side of the boat to see the water splashing about. We had caught something! I watched bug eyed as my grandfather slowly lifted the line out of the water. “Damn turtles eating my fish!” he hollered as he threw the line onto the boat and a tiny turtle fell at me feet. It squirmed about as my grandfather reached for a 9mil shotgun that had gone unnoticed by me in the hull of the johnboat. I sat in shock unable to comprehend what he was about to do as he slowly raised the weapon and a single shot echoed off the mountains. The innocent creature lay at my feet now in a pool of red as it twitched against the tin of the boat. I was speechless.
Everyone has that one moment in their life when they are forced out of the comfort zone of innocence as an event throws them into reality. In the book To Kill a Mocking Bird, the protagonists Scout and Jem experience the same revelation as they slowly realize that their quaint hometown is plagued with racism and false accusations. The real world around us is a harsh place bereft of compassion and kindness.
I am not saying that an event so small as killing a turtle is worth loosing sleep over, but to a 9 year old it can shatter the allusion of a safe and comforting world. It provides insight to the harsh reality that surrounds us. My idea of a fun fishing trip colored with green trees, fresh mountain air, and a sun kissed pond soon turned into a gray sketch of a now silent turtle and a man still holding a smoking gun. My grandfather continued to pull of fish as if nothing had happened as the wind up the pond cut a tear down my cheek and caught me still staring at my fallen friend.
As I packed up to leave the following Monday I felt differently about the world I lived in. I felt as if there were scarier things out there than the monster under my bed. I boarded the car, (pocketed the rest of my grandfathers fishing line,) and headed back down to my childhood home as the gunshot still rang in my ears and turtles danced on the sides of the mountains.
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