Morals

So once upon a time I was a skinny, awkward young man in the sixth grade. Nothing much has changed since then. But the fact remains: I wanted to shoot a deer, despite the fact that I was like 12. So I talked my dad into letting me go out. I took my little $100 bow and arrow, and my dad sat me in a treestand. After an hour or so, a nice little six point walks up. To this day I would still shoot the same deer. My mind was racing. I am gonna be the sweetest kid in the sixth grade. Who else has shot a 6 point buck? I raised the bow up, and all 95 pounds of me yanked the string back. I lined the shot up, and let 'er fly. Perfect shot, kill zone, executed with textbook perfection. I watched, in slow motion, the arrow fly a perfectly straight line and hit the deer. Thud. The arrow then proceeded to bounce off of the deer. The beautiful six point then ran away, leaving a hair-tipped arrow laying on the ground, and a broken-hearted little soul sitting in a tree.
Moral: really isn't one for this story....I apologize
(By the way, I have only told this story to like 3 people in my life. It was a secret until now.)