He has her line us up. Starting from the left, girl, boy, boy, girl, girl, boy. Like a mini residential school where children were sorted by gender and age. We fall into place like good soldiers and are presented to him. Three boys and three girls. Sister One, Sister Two, me, Oldest Brother, Second Brother and Baby Brother. Baby Brother, who can barely stand yet, teeters. We can see the grin behind his soother.

We all look down. We barely recognize the man in military boots as our father; he is that angry and drunk. Military Boots grins at Mother and winks. Like he’s sharing a secret. He flicks the barrel of the rifle in her direction, motions to her to join our squad.

“Had enough!” he manages to blurt out. The barrel of the rifle weaves around our faces. We recognize it as the weapon that supplies our winter meat.

We girls are like Mother. We don’t scream unless we must. The older brothers look bored. Mother is at the end of our lineup. I glance at her. Silent tear puddles have formed over top of her mouth.

“Don’t,” she whispers.

The sickening sound of the .303 being cocked is his only reply. Oldest Brother steps out of the lineup and slaps a hand to his left hip.

“Well look at you, old man,” he says as Military Boots sighs. “Look at you, Mister War Hero. I wish your mama could see you now!”

“Shh,” comes a muffled command from Mom. “Shh. Stop! Now!”

“Aw, why Mom? Someone has to say something. I mean, really? This is how this family ends? With that dumb fucker pulling a trigger?” Oldest Brother is brave. He is nine years older than me and I am one year away from starting Grade Two.

“How many times have I watched this jackass miss a moose or graze a deer? How many times have I watched geese laugh back at him? BANG! BANG! And the geese laugh back a big AURUK! AURUK!”

My sisters and I giggle. Military Boots wobbles toward us like a newborn deer.

“Look at Bambi over here, everyone!” Oldest Brother begins to laugh. Second Brother snorts. Baby Brother claps his hands in glee and says, “AiAiAi!”

“Get back with the rest. You’re who I’ll kill first!” Military Boots barks his orders.

“Do it!” Oldest Brother challenges. “Do it up good, you dumb shithead! Do all of us. Come on. RAT-A-TAT-TAT! Do it!”

Military Boots swings the gun toward him, but Oldest One leaps forward, twisting the nose of the gun under his own arm. His teeth are gritted and his dark eyes flash. He knocks Military Boots flat onto his back. Military Boots is lying on the floor. Oldest One jerks the rifle hard. Father lets go and Oldest One slides the rifle across the kitchen floor.