Fathers and Sons

       My sons Garrett and Grant, 10 and 8, and I were

trying to decide on a new stand placement in an area

where “Monster Bucks” are known to walk on our farm

in Southwest Georgia. Driving around a freshly

harvested corn field the boys, who noticeably did not

share my intensity, were hanging out the window like puppies sniffing the wind. They managed to grab a

handful of reddish berries off of a pigweed which immediately burst from the pressure of their fingers. I

 saw it all over their hands as I looked out the

passenger side mirror and down the side of our white Suburban. They leaned back inside the vehicle and,

looking at their hands, they commenced to rub the

bright red berry juices all over their faces, just being

boys. I exploded like the berries on their faces, barking

out, “Don’t dare touch a thing in this car,” and “What

will your mother say?” Then suddenly, while in the

middle of force feeding my attitude of hunting and

trying to explain the how and why to them, a light bulb comes on in my thick head. I realized that I was the one with the bad attitude. Yes, I admit it was me. I was

 thinking only  of that “Monster Buck” and not realizing

what kind of effect my words had on them. “I am sorry,” I said, “sometimes fathers have too much on their minds.”

            In my mind, like in a dream, I’m picturing months ahead, a deer walking down the trail. I could almost smell that morning mist, hearing the squirrels darting out of way of this once-in-a-life-time “Monster Buck”. Slowly reaching for my gun, he rotates his massive headgear just to walk down his trail back to his secure bedding area never to be seen again.  But, today I am with my sons, failing miserably in the once-in-a-life-time job that God has given me.  I’ve come back to where I need to be: my main goal in life is the quality of time I can spend with Garrett and Grant, to create in them a respect and responsibility for the outdoors and others. They are too young to know that the preparation for the hunt is hard work. All they know about the outdoors is it is a time of boundless excitement, to be outside, no school, no homework, no chores and no boundaries and that’s what it should be. I know the outdoors means the same things for me. I should enjoy being with my boys, just us boys being outside. This is not the time for intense hunting, which will come when season arrives, but now it should be fun.

            My attitude is completely changed, and I start to enjoy the day. I begin to drag the stand through a patch of honeysuckle vines towards the perfect tree, yet I notice a slight difference in the weight of the ladder stand. Turning, I find myself abandoned. I see the boys running away in an adjoining peanut field whooping, hollering and jumping like young horses let out on fresh green pasture. I place the stand against the tree. Hearing a ruckus below in the vines, Garrett is standing at the base of the ladder, his shoes untied and sweat dripping from his nose, presenting to me in his hand several pieces of broken flint. He grins as he concocts a story for each of the broken stones he holds. He shows me one that slightly resembles a real arrowhead and how it once contributed to the killing of the largest bear in this area. I just smile.

            Grant is now hanging up in the vines with his pockets full of sticks, rocks, old bones, and more stuff that could not crawl out. They begin bombarding me like gnats with questions that I could only answer if they would give me a chance: “How did you get the stand over there through those vines?  Did you see those coyote tracks?  How can we get over there?  Why did you place it there? Why do you care about the wind? Which way will the deer walk when he comes in? Why is this rock not an Indian arrowhead?”  I ask them to slow down with the questions, and then we could talk.  Away from their fast pace world of school, homework, and those video games, their “boredom” of daily life, they begin to get answers one at a time. It is amazing how kids’ minds assimilate the bombardment of information around them. Sponge-like they seem to take it all in with no distractions except rocks, bones, tracks, birds and bugs…. There is something special about being outside. Now we seem to be on a different playing field, and their attention is mine. Eyes intently focused on me, they listen as we continue with their questions.

             Here we are in the woods, and they are looking to me for answers that they need to know now. Thinking of a “Monster Buck” has long left my mind and the cultivating of my boys’ minds has become my main priority. The day will come when we will be separated, and each of us will have memories. I want them to remember every good time that we have had together.  This is true I know as I recall my brother and me chasing after my dad, fishing, picking up doves, following blood trails, and just sitting for hours in the woods eating Vienna Sausage, crackers and RC Colas. Looking back somehow I can’t remember anything bad.

            There are special times when strong bonds are built between fathers and sons. This happens quickly while sons are still young and are franticly looking for the answers that will undeniably build upon who they will ultimately become.  Their questions will be answered, I assure you, by someone. We fathers need to think hard how to answer such inquiries and to be aware of how words and actions are perceived by younger minds. Questions like what is character, integrity, how do I treat mom and other people, why should a handshake be as good as my word and signature? It is in little moments like this when sons become men.

            In small moments of time lives are changed. If I had not changed my attitude and changed the mood of our outing, it would have left a bitter taste in my sons’ lives, as bitter as the berries that were so easily washed off.  I have seen some fathers so over-enthused about a trophy deer, overwhelmed with excitement of the perfect hunt, or “kill,” that they push their sons away from the outdoors by forcing them to sit quiet and still for hours while feet freeze and bladders bulge.  These children grow up and because of a bad example become non hunters. It’s hard to convince someone now listed in this non-hunter category that hunting is fun and exhilarating and an essential to managing our natural resources.

            I use the example of fathers and sons just because that is the position I find myself in with the two boys of my own. It’s just as important to teach these values to girls, who are becoming more and more involved in the outdoors.  When you are outside with your kids, boys or girls, remember that you are molding them.  They are looking for attention, acceptance and enjoyment. How they end up in our society is your legacy and your responsibility as a parent or guardian, determining whether they become contributing members of our society or prisoners in our jails. They will become what you have directed them to be, intentionally or not. Don’t let, “Take a kid hunting or fishing”, become a cliché.  Let it become a lifestyle.  If you ask me if I had to choose between “Monster Bucks” or pocket full of rocks, every time, I’ll take the rocks.

Written: Friday, August 17, 2007

God Bless and Good Huntin’

Cheney Tye