I have not only been to the mountaintop, I live there!
It’s worth repeating, as karma is as karma does, that I must live a pretty darn decent life, for God has rewarded me in stunning ways for a lifetime of dreams come true. And beyond.
I was blessed to be born in America. I was raised by loving parents in a hard-working, ultra-disciplined loving home. I was raised a deerhunter. I was raised a bowhunter. I was so very fortunate to know my passions at a very early age. I hunted with Fred Bear. I got to know Howard Hill and Elmer Keith. I was taught to off-road race by Mickey Thompson and Parnelli Jones. I played bass for Chuck Berry and Bo Diddly. I’ve jammed with the greatest musicians that ever lived. My careers defy gravity. But here’s the clincher; I married Shemane.
Oh how can it be!
So now that you know I am spoiled beyond belief, join me, won’t you, in the celebration that dreams can and do come true, but first you must dream big and push yourself beyond the limit to constantly challenge yourself to not only be the best that you can be, but demand that your best is constantly upgraded so you never settle for status quo anything.
Got that? Good.
So I’m doing my annual top rated Detroit radioshow as the deerseason is about to erupt in October 1988, just coming off a most phenomenal worldtour with my phenomenal killer band performing all those phenomenal killer tunes for all those phenomenal killer audiences, and I was whooped. Plum tuckered out.
But the radio gig is a gimme, no problem, no pressure, easy as she goes, simply raising hell in a world succumbing to the numbnut curse of political correctness, as I defied it all with my nonstop promotion of hunting, fishing, trapping, uncompromisingly absolute Second Amendment rights, and allthings good over bad, right over left, America over all else, you know, that obvious logic, self-evident truth, common sense American Way thing I so reek of. Now that’s radio kids.
And quite honestly, after that grueling tour, I was ready to shutdown and just go hunting for six months. I had ever sworn off women for the season. I mean come on; enuf is enuf, ya know what I mean.
And let’s admit it shall we, to the non-combatants in the culture war, (like at the time 99% of disconnected America! Sheesh! We the sheeple indeed) my constant celebration and promotion of the perfection of hands-on hunting, fishing, trapping conservation and gunrights drives “moderates” a little bonkers. Of course we all know, that being a “moderate” ultimately means you stand for nothing meaningful, always willing to compromise away one’s principals while therefor facilitating the chipping away (fundamental transformation) of America by the lefty America haters, my radioshow was top rated because people were slowly learning to appreciate a guy who won’t compromise of candy coat things to placate the “moderates” and leftists, like animal rights freaks and gun grabbing Constitution destroyers.
Can you say “Friction Radio”? I think you can.
I was warned that the news and traffic gal at the station was smoking hot, and I would be all over her because she was so beautiful and sexy.
Normally, that would be a reasonable prediction, however, this October I was committed to a bachelor season, you know, just to get away from it all and go hermit for a while.
Then I walked into the station and saw Shemane, the news and traffic girl.
Dammit Ted! You must stick to your plan. Don’t let this stunning woman get in the way of your solo huntseason. Don’t do it man! Stand! You can do it! Don’t gawk! Don’t flirt! Walk away! RUN!!
Well that little feeble attempt at discipline lasted a whopping eight seconds, for once we were introduced and I shook that soft yet solid handshake, it was over.
I went into full Prairie Chicken strut, feathers all puffed up, breastplate aglow and protruding, dancing that ridiculous cock-o-the-walk high step nonsense.
I write it off to a lifetime of diligent training and muscle memory. Think The Bourne Identity when the phone rings. Dammit!
So long Prairie Chicken strut story short, in spite of my intense, friction causing top rated radio rants that completely took her off guard and scared her, we fell in love, got married three months later, and went on a huntingmoon. It’s like a honeymoon, but more killing.
Over time, Shemane came to understand and appreciate the beauty of hunting, and when she finally made the plunge, she plunged deep.
To say she is my best hunting buddy is an understatement, but more importantly, she has become a serious worldclass huntress herself, and more importantly still, her Queen of the Forest segments on our Spirit of the Wild TV show on Outdoor Channel, has opened up the eyes of millions of gals across the land to just how wonderful and desirable and beneficial the hunting lifestyle is.
I introduced her slowly, never pressured her, baptized her with proper firearms and bows that were fun to shoot, made sure our hunts were comfortable and non-demanding, and always do my very best to be very patient and understanding when she goes all woman on me.
Ok. I shouldn’t have said that. But you know what I mean.
So hit it boys! Gently and lovingly get your own Queen of the Forest to join you on your next hunt. Be sweet, be conscientious, don’t expect them to be rugged ass-kicking man type hunters. Keep it feminine, keep it nice.
Remember, slow and easy, start with gentle kisses…. Wait, are we still hunting here? Yes, of course we are, aren’t we guys.