Ken let out a whoop. “You see that shot, Art?! “Boy’s a natural, chip off the old block!”

Pop looked at me, his eyes shining with pride. I felt 10 feet tall. Pop was proud of me!

Back at the clubhouse the story of my shot quickly spread, the other hunters teasing and congratulating me, Pop receiving just as much attention as me. Wow! To be accepted and congratulated by the men I admired so much was a tonic so strong it made me dizzy and unsteady on my feet. I smiled until my jaws ached, too shy and unsure to do much more than grin.

That evening the group drove to Chautauqua Lake, spending the night at Bud Edel’s beautiful cabin. After a great steak dinner everyone hit the hay. The next morning we fished for muskellunge, then spent the afternoon shooting trap. Again, I broke enough birds to impress the shooters and Pop kept grinning at me. It struck me forcedly how much he was enjoying his role as the mentor of his grandson, already an above-average shot, upholding his reputation and promising a continuation of a family tradition.

I had to keep pinching myself to believe this wasn’t all a glorious dream.

The following day we drove to my grandfather’s camp where Art and Ken prepared a huge prime rib after a day’s grouse hunting. They were sipping a few and by dinner time had dirtied every dish in camp, I swear.

There were 10 of us at the table and the food was simply fantastic. Devoting myself to the feast there was no boy happier in the entire world. I’d made my grandfather proud, felt a growing confidence in myself and was accepted by those I most admired, eating food fit for a king. Dinner wound down, everyone was talking, good-natured laughter around the table.

Suddenly, Pop took his pipe from his mouth, pointed the stem at me like a pistol and announced, “Well son, it’s time for you to do the dishes.”

The table went quiet; every set of eyes fastened upon me. Pop wasn’t joking, he was deadly serious, something in his eyes I’d never seen before. On the spot, everyone was staring at me — there was only one thing to do. Standing uncertainty, a quick glance at the sink showed it was an impossible pile of jumbled pots, pans and dishes. The small counters on either side of the sink were heaped high as was the sink itself.

How could I wash when I couldn’t even access the sink?

The silence continued and, thinking quickly, I took a small pot, filled it with hot dishwater from the kettle on the stove, also covered with cookware, and began clearing the sink dish by dish. Wash, rinse in a bucket on the floor, dry, put away, one piece at a time.

Animated talk at the table began again. Thank goodness; the silence had been chilling. Gradually, the sink itself was cleared and it became possible to wash several dishes at a time before rinsing and drying them. However, I couldn’t help but remember the table itself was still piled with plates, glasses and silverware.

Finally, one side of the counter was cleared and the dish drainer could finally be put to use. Still, it would be a long, long evening, but there was nothing to do but make the best of it.

Suddenly, there was a loud scraping of chairs and I was surrounded by men, everyone pitching in. My only job at this point was to wash as quickly as possible while willing hands performed the rest. What a relief!

I was joked with, chided if a dish wasn’t perfectly clean, which generally it was. They were making me feel accepted as one of them. Suddenly, doing the dishes wasn’t a chore at all, it was actually fun the way it was handled.

“Hey, Art!” Jim McKittrick hollered. “Got me a grand old apron at home, lots of lace on it for the lad. He’s done so well tonight I think we should make him a permanent camp dishwasher!”

I gave him a stricken look at which everyone broke out in laughter and pushed me gently around. Surprisingly, I was laughing with them.

After we returned home Pop took me aside. “Wade, you made me proud at camp, diving into those dishes like you did. Our group respects and appreciates one another. We share all chores and expenses equally. If just one of us shirks their fair share it causes tension and resentment; such are not tolerated.

“It’s important to pick your friends wisely. Our common values bind us, bond us together in a special way. You took a big step this weekend into being included among us and in a way being appreciated as a man showing real integrity.

“Remember this lesson: always pull your weight and respect your fellow man.”

Pop leaned back and measured my reaction to his words. Fourteen is a bit young to take all that in, but it seemed possible I’d be included in future activities and if that involved doing a few dishes, carrying some firewood, it was a small price to pay.

Looking back at the wisdom and guidance of those simple lessons and the impact they’d have on my future life, I can only marvel.