Growing up in rural Ohio in the late 1970s, I carried a bow and arrow the way other kids carried a baseball glove. My dad shot an old Shakespeare Wonderbow, and I claimed it for myself at an early age. Back then, a cardboard box served as my target. I’d set it at one end of the yard, walk to the other, and spend hours flinging arrows. By the time I was 12, I had saved enough money from baling hay to buy my first compound bow. Not long after, I s…
This story is only covered by news sources that have yet to be evaluated by the independent media monitoring agencies we use to assess the quality and reliability of news outlets on our platform. Learn more here.