My granddaddy told me this story when I was about your age. And now, Angel my boy, I’m passing it on to you. I’m not sure if I can get all the details right, but the real core of it—the bones—that’s buried in my brain pretty good. That’s what you have to remember, too: just enough to get the point, not so much that you miss it.
A real long time ago, there was a young hunter who used to roam the woods not far from here. He always worked alone, and he wasn’t much for socializing. But everybody in town loved him because he brought home more meat than anybody else and never hesitated to share it. The key here is that no one ever had to earn what the hunter gave them. It was just charity. Not the sort of charity that comes from guilt or pity either. The hunter just knew that bringing home the meat was his job, so he did it. Simple as that.
Trust me on this, Angel: If you can get a really clear, bright feeling in your gut that you’re doing your job, that you’re doing exactly what you were made for . . . you don’t need any more reward than that. Just to be alive and full of purpose is more than most folks ever have. Don’t throw that away just for pay. Money’s nice to have, but it can cost you.
Anyhow, this hunter needs a name, right? When my granddaddy was first telling me this story, he tried to get away with just saying “the hunter” over and over like there weren’t any other hunters around. But I bugged him about that until he finally said, “Okay, Jim, you want a name? The hunter’s name was Jim.” I never actually believed that the hunter and me just by coincidence had the same name. It was just to show me that this fella, he could be anybody. So, Angel, you want a name? The hunter’s name was Angel.
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