Sunday Drives: Cherished Memories with My Dad

Sunday Drives: Cherished Memories with My Dad

Some of my fondest memories are of Sunday drives with my dad. During hunting season, it was usually just the two of us, but when hunting season was over, the whole family—Mom, Dad, my sister, and I—would pile into the car. The day would start with church in the morning. Afterward, we’d grab a bite at McDonald’s or Dairy Queen and hit the road.

My dad was a realtor at the time, and we didn’t have a truck back then—just cars and later an SUV. That never mattered, though. I didn’t know the difference, and Dad never let it stop us. We’d usually bring a .410 shotgun for grouse, which was our main target. He’d also pack a 12-gauge in case he needed to back me up if we ran into a flock, and his 7mm rifle for the off chance we’d spot a legal deer or moose. Dad let me take the shots at grouse, but if something bigger came along, he’d handle it with the rifle. Most of the time, we bagged grouse, along with a few rabbits if they stayed still long enough for me to get a shot off.

My Boy and Dad on a Sunday Drive a few years back

One unforgettable trip happened just south of town, right at the last light of the day. We came across a cow moose and her calf. Back then, calf season was in full swing, and that evening marked my first moose hunt. As darkness fell, Dad, with what little help I could offer, started gutting the calf. The cow moose was upset, making a racket and charging in before stopping short. It was unnerving enough that Dad fired a shot into the ground nearby to scare her off a bit—it worked. I can’t recall the exact make of the car we had, but it was a long, four-door sedan with a massive trunk, the kind you might imagine in an old mafia movie. Vividly, I remember that calf moose fitting perfectly in that trunk.

Another time, Grandpa joined us. Now that I’m a father, I understand how special it is to have your kid and your dad together on these outings, and I’m sure my dad felt the same. That day, I bagged a rabbit, which Grandpa cleaned. Later, Dad told me how thrilled Grandpa was that his grandkid got it. Grandpa was visiting from out of town, so he cooked the rabbit, and we all ate it together.

As I got older, I wanted to drive. Dad struck a fair deal: if I drove, he’d take the shots. Driving underage on those gravel roads made me feel like a total badass. If we hit a stretch loaded with grouse, I’d switch back to shooting until things quieted down.

One trip in the SUV—a new Ford Explorer, probably a 1993 model—stands out for a different reason. We got a flat tire, and the anti-theft lug nut was a new feature at the time. The problem? The socket to remove it wasn’t included. My dad, a God-fearing Christian who never swore, let loose a string of curses I’d never heard from him before. Hours later, through sheer anger and willpower, he somehow got that tire off.

Now, I’m lucky enough to share these drives with my own kid. They’re not intense, multi-day hunts—just casual outings, much like the ones my dad took me on. The mindset is the same: expect a few grouse, and if you’re really lucky, maybe spot big game. I wouldn’t trade these moments for anything. As a dad now, these are memories I cherish and will carry with me for the rest of my life.

Lyman Miller

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Granpa Way Back When