I remember my first deer. On the opening day of buck season 1979, my dad took me out and set me up with his 30-30. Just as morning broke a nice 8 point stepped into view. Dad was wispering, shoot it, shoot it now. But I kept quiet, waiting on that perfect double lung heart shot. Well, he got mad and yelled at me, spooking the deer. He grabbed the rifle and stormed back to the house, leaving me trail behind.
That night, he went out the the lodge with some of his buddies, when he suffered a major heart attact and died. AFter the funeral and everything was over on Thursday, I asked Mom if I could have dads 30-30, she said, it's yours. That Saturday I took my/his 30-30 and went to the same spot and killed the 8 point buck with a double lung heart shot. I cried while telling my dad, see, that's what I was waiting for.
Charish those moments you have with your Dad and Dads with your children. Congrats on your fist deer. Awsome.