Story time: When I turned 16 my dad took me on a hunting trip. It was a kind of right-of-passage into adulthood and some father-and-son bonding. We travelled to Plumas National Forest (beautiful place) for mule deer.

We drove there. My dad seemed really into the trip. I hadn't seen him so happy but there was something off. Occasionally when discussing "my task" he would trail off and whisper. It was a little strange that he wouldn't say "the task" out loud: kill an animal.

And every time I asked if I couldn't complete "my task" he he would go quiet for a few seconds and say "it won't come to that." I wasn't really sure what that meant but I was 16 and figured I'd "man up" and make my dad proud anyway. But I was a little hurt. I don't perform

traditional masculinity very well and I was very sensitive to that as a teen. Those moments aside, the drive was a blast. Blasting The Clash in the car and talking about Civil War history (my dad is a CW buff) and enjoying the scenery.

It took half a day but we made it to a beautiful campsite in the forest. We set up our tents, made a fire, cooked dinner and settled in for the night. It was so beautiful and peaceful at night but I admit I was starting to dread the next day.