I was certain there was nothing I could learn from my father-nothing about life, and certainly nothing about hunting. Naturally, I didn't understand why he wore polyester pants or why he had that plasticky Brill Cream hairdo. But more fundamentally, I didn't understand his life. Fifty years he'd lived in this tiny town of cornfields and cow pastures, where nothing ever happened, yet he seemed more than contented. Stranger still, he got a genuine charge out of the minutiae his life seemed to offer.