Marty

Goodness knows, I have bitched about my husband relentlessly here. But tonight, I am doing a brag on him. He would be mad if he knew, so it's a good thing this blog is now saved under favorites with the title, "Becky's Birth Blog"...

Two years ago, an old friend of ours called him and asked if he was free for the weekend. It just so happened that he was. Our friend told him that he had started a program taking physically handicapped guys duck hunting, and they had more signed up this time than they could handle, and he really needed another hand.

Marty was a bit apprehensive, having never been around anyone in a wheelchair. Our friend told him, "There is only one rule. Don't fucking help them unless they ask you to." and he laughed.

Marty gets to the meetup spot before daybreak the next morning. All the guys are getting unloaded and into their chairs, and getting their guns and their ammo ready and they head slowly for the wheelchair accessible blind. If I remember correctly, Marty got his head bit off within the first 10 minutes for trying to help a guy get his wheelchair out of the mud. The sentiment was something like, "I made it 20 years without your help, don't touch my chair."

But as the morning went on, he started to have a ball. When the guys missed ducks, they called each other nasty names. When they hit them, they called each other nasty names.

When Marty got home, he was elated. I remember him telling me that he saw handicapped people in a whole new light. They were just guys, in wheelchairs.

Since that weekend, Marty has worked with our friend to expand the program. They now have two duck hunts a year, a deer hunt, and in the summer, they have a huge fishing tournament. Marty has also started asking local businesses for donations, and having a big meal after each hunt.

This weekend was his last disabled duck hunt for the season. He spent all day Friday smoking meat, and yesterday and today they killed 14 ducks, and had a huge barbecue lunch.

He is on cloud nine.