Mr. Atticus was almost fifty years old. I and Jem were talking about him. I thought he was too old to make us feel proud of him. Jem was a football crazy, he always wanted to tackle him but Mr. Atticus always said he was too old for that. On the other side, he is just a lawyer, he did not driving a dump-truck for the country, he did not farm, so his job is not very enviable. He did not do the same things like my classmates’ father, such as hunting, playing poker or fish or drinking or smoking. He only likes reading, sat in the living room.
Today, I saw Atticus shoot an old mad dog, that was surprised me. He shot the dog without glasses. No one can do it in our town. And he was called one-shot Finch, but he never told that to me. Miss Maudie said marksmanship was a gift of god, a talent. Maybe this was the reason why Mr. Atticus never boasts about himself. But I still want to boast it in the school on Monday because not everybody’s daddy is a first-class shoot; even Jem was not allowed me to do that.
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