A loss to me, perhaps to you.

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NoobCannon

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I am unsure as to how to go about this, but it has been weighing on my mind for quite some time now.

My grandfather, Glenn Hayley, passed last night, at the age of 80 years. He taught my dad to shoot, who in turn taught me. He is best known in the firearms family as being an avid fan of the .22 Hornet, as well as despising the .243 Winchester with a passion.

It has been said by those that knew him and know me, that I am very much like him. We both rarely speak unless we have something important to say.

He was a good man, and he will be missed.
 
I am sorry to hear of your loss.

If your Mom and Dad are still alive, please let this serve as a reminder to you to enjoy your time with them and not take them for granted ... start by giving them each a BIG hug. :)

BTW, I, too, would be interested to know about the source of your Grandfather's .243 enmity.
 
Sorry for your loss, Noob. I wish I had my grandfather back for and hour. He would have been 120 years old this December. The other one was born 3 months before the Sioux and Cheyenne handed Custer his..arse...at the Little Bighorn. Between the two of'em, I coulda learned many things.

I'm not a big fan of the .243 myself. It seems to occupy the narrow niche that's not quite enough for 90% of the tasks assigned to it...and too much for the other 10. Or, another way...Neither fish nor fowl nor good red meat.
 
his hatred of the .243 has become quite the legend in the family. Every time we bring it up me and my dad can't help but laugh.

Way back before I was born, my dad's uncle, grandpa's brother, had won a contest which the prize was a handbuilt .243, built to his specifications. The company(I don't remember which) came out and measure him, his LOP, his shooting stance, everything, and made up the rifle just for him. When he got it and got to shoot it, he found it had an unbearable kick. He swore up and down that you couldn't fire it accurately without getting laid out. My grandfather bet him a case of beer that he could shoot it no problems whatsoever. So they went out to the deer lease and set up a target downrange for him. Grandpa, being ever the smartbutt, put his backside up against a fallen log and took aim. He fired, and got laid out across the log.

He lost a case of beer that day, and he was mad about it ever since.

I mentioned the fact we should have a .243 built up in remembrance of him to my dad, and he couldn't help but laugh.
 
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