Click to Enlarge I broke my nose and blacked both eyes playing softball, but the Stewartsville Cardinal team won the championship. Click to Enlarge Being named Homecoming Queen was like a bonus.The next morning I was in the woods with my dad hunting. My best friend and Hunter Safety course companion,Bobbie Jo Clark,was named homecoming queen the following year. Hunting helped me "connect" with my father.   Homecoming Deer by Kathryn Fagan So much happened that school year, but what I remember most is the deer I took on opening day. I can say this for my junior year in high school--it was memorable, especially that autumn. I broke my nose the third day of school during softball practice, but we went on to win the conference championship. I was crowned Stewartsville High School Homecoming Queen in September, and I killed my first deer, an 8-point buck, on opening day of modern firearms deer season in November. I come from a family of deer hunters. We have photo albums bulging with memories of successful hunts, and our walls sag under the weight of mounted deer heads. My grandpa, Fred Christensen, began hunting more than 40 years ago. In 1998 he shot an 18-point buck that, when field dressed, weighed more than 200 pounds. This deer was recognized in the Boone and Crockett All-Time Awards Book. My grandpa instilled a love of hunting into his son--my uncle--who killed his first deer before he turned 12. Since then, he has hunted deer and turkey by gun and by bow in numerous states. My dad, his brothers, and their sons all hunt. Last fall, Dad shot a buck with a .54-caliber Hawken during the muzzleloader portion of the deer season. Obviously, the men in my family have deep roots in deer hunting. Although I have always liked the outdoors, I never considered taking up hunting until my freshman year in high school. I thought it might help me better connect with the men in my family, especially my dad. With twin daughters for children, he probably thought he would never have a hunting partner in his family. When I expressed my interest in hunting to my dad, he was completely supportive. In fact, he went right out and bought me my own deer rifle. Before I had even gone through the hunter education course, which is required for all hunters born after Jan. 1, 1967, I was the proud owner of a youth model Ruger .243-caliber rifle. I took the hunter education course at my school. It was taught by my high school principal, Mr. John B. Reed. My best friend, Bobbie Jo Clark, and I took the course together. We were the only high school students, and the only girls, enrolled in the course. The rest of the class members were enthusiastic, fifth-grade boys. After passing the test, we were equipped with the knowledge necessary to enter the hunting world. Later that year, I tapped into my hunter safety education to make a firearm safety video for my health class. As the basis of my project, I used the 10 Commandments of Hunter Safety. I went on my first hunt when I was 15, during the Youth-Only portion of the deer hunting season. It was a full-participation family affair. My dad took me hunting. My grandpa took me hunting. Even my uncle, John Christensen, a corporal with the Missouri State Highway Patrol, took me hunting. The closest deer I saw was 350 yards away, which was too far for my shooting ability. However, these outings brought me closer to the hunters in my family. I officially became "one of the guys." My family has always taken lots of pictures, and the following fall, my eventful junior year, was a whirlwind of colorful images. Pictures show me in my softball uniform with two black eyes and a broken nose one month, and in a sparkling homecoming tiara and cardinal red cape the next. I am proudest, however, of those images of me in blaze orange at dawn's early light the opening morning of rifle season. I'm not wearing any makeup, and my hair is in a loose ponytail, but my nails were still painted from homecoming. Early that morning, my dad came into my room to wake me, but I was already awake. I knew I was prepared, and I was confident. We had sighted in my rifle the previous week using leftover Halloween pumpkins as targets. My father had earlier acquired his "essential" supplies--Hershey's chocolate bars, Kit-Kat bars, and a six-pack of Sunny Delight citrus drinks. Although the weather was unseasonably warm, we also took hot chocolate in our thermos. Communicating by walkie-talkies with the rest of our hunting party, we set forth toward the ground blinds we'd built on the farm. These blinds are basically 4-foot cubes, with a front-hinged door that opens like a tailgate on a pickup truck. Four posts raise the roof 2 feet above our heads. It was nice and cozy sitting side by side with my father in the stand. Extra cartridges, which I hoped I would not have to use, lay on the shelf. A few minutes after sunrise, Dad nudged my arm. I looked over to the right side where he had been searching with his binoculars. Right outside the fence line, just over 100 yards away, stood my deer. I quietly raised my gun. I was surprised by my own sense of calm. I tried to find the deer in my scope, but the stand was too high to let me see over the rifle. I quietly asked my dad to scoot my chair up. Hard of hearing and never a good lip reader, he kept asking, "What?" I felt near frantic, but I kept my wits and finally communicated my need to scoot forward. Knowing this was my one chance for a shot at this deer, I braced against the edge of the stand for stability and centered the crosshairs of the scope on the deer's chest area, just above the front leg. Exhaling a deep breath, I gently squeezed the trigger. Before the echo was gone, the deer was down. I wanted to go immediately to see my deer, but Dad made me wait for a few minutes before leaving the stand. He radioed our friends, Kenny and Scott, and told them I had shot a deer. We tagged the deer, and after taking about 20 photographs, we field-dressed it. Although I knew what it meant to field-dress a deer, I had never seen it done, let alone participated. Dad did the dirty work while I held up a leg and tried to stay out of the way. Then we took the buck to the local check-in station. Everyone was congratulating everyone else, but I received more than my fair share of attention. After stopping at a few places to show the deer off, we brought it home to clean it. We then took it to a meat locker for processing. The butcher, Rob Burns, who is my dad's cousin, commended me on my clean shot. My dad and I then headed back into town for the Lion's Club biscuits and gravy breakfast that is always held on the opening day of deer season. Here we met up with our hunting party and swapped stories, mostly about my deer. I plan to deer hunt every fall, but I'm guessing that no deer season will be as memorable to folks in these parts as the year the Homecoming Queen with the broken nose shot her first deer.