Junkyardfiction
07-31-2009, 23:38
So picture me, 27-years-old, in a room with a bunch of kids around the age of 10. We’re all here for the same reason: To complete the Illinois Department of Natural Resources Hunter Education Course. As I sit at my table, a dang-near blaze-orange pen I somehow ended up with from U-HAUL in-hand, I look around at my “peers.”
They’re all fidgeting.
We’ve been sitting here for hours, they’ve got candy at this point, and I’m starting to eye the kid’s gummy worms next to me. I should have run to the gas station too, but apparently catching a smoke is more important to us “adults.” At times I catch myself paying just as much attention to the folks around me as I am to the speakers, no offence fellas.
The children are winged by parents, who I’m sure have something better to do on a Friday night than sit at the Grand Tower Civic Center for hours, listening to things they largely already know…like, “This here’s the action, this is the stock,” etc.
But they’re here.
And they’re happy to be here.
I often find myself watching the families—the moms and dads, arms around their kids, nodding to them when something really important is being said. I’m watching true-blue good ole-fashioned parenting in action, and it’s great, but a little bitter sweet.
Like I said, I’m 27. These kids have a 17-year jump on me when it comes to hunting. When they’re my age, they’ll have brought down a big buck or two, they’ll have mastered picking water fowl out of the air—they’ll all be a dern good shot, if they stick with it.
I wasn’t raised-up in the hunting tradition. I knew about guns, sure, my granddad had a taxidermy bear cub in the upstairs bedroom, I got it: there’s such a thing as “hunting,” I just was never brought up with it. To be honest, I’m down-right jealous of these lucky youngsters. Their parents know what they’re doing, they are giving them the opportunity of a lifetime: To become a member of a very special community of outdoor folk.
I can’t fault my parents, if someone isn’t “into” hunting, that’s fine. They didn’t know their daughter would grow up and catch one of the biggest thrills of her life when a friend took her squirrel hunting (Season opens today by the way!). They had no idea she’d grow up to think a Mossberg M51 was “handsome.” Believe me, they had NO IDEA how much I’d love camo (Mossy Oak Blaze Orange, to be exact; we all have our favorites). Although I grew up in the country, had plenty of stray dogs and feral cats to play with, plenty of trees to climb, and my dad gave me free-run of his tools so I could build coon traps for fun, I was never exposed to “The Hunt.”
These kids are blessed to have the chance of being exposed to what I like to call Outdoor Culture. There was some talk of us being a dying breed: the hunters. Its times like this—sitting in a room full of wide-eyed kids (until the sugar rush peters out)—that I really appreciate parents taking the time to include their children in their hobbies, and I would urge more parents to take their kids hunting and fishing. As for me, I’ve realized it’s never too late, there’s a little bit of the 10-year-old left in me, and she’s all-ears (and could use a little sugar herself).
My folks have come around though; they’ve enthusiastically agreed to split the meat (and the cost of processing!) of first deer I get with me. I can see it now, we’ll be sitting around my fire pit, venison burgers cooking on the grill, and they’ll understand, no matter what lifestyle they thought their daughter might have grown up to enjoy.
They’re all fidgeting.
We’ve been sitting here for hours, they’ve got candy at this point, and I’m starting to eye the kid’s gummy worms next to me. I should have run to the gas station too, but apparently catching a smoke is more important to us “adults.” At times I catch myself paying just as much attention to the folks around me as I am to the speakers, no offence fellas.
The children are winged by parents, who I’m sure have something better to do on a Friday night than sit at the Grand Tower Civic Center for hours, listening to things they largely already know…like, “This here’s the action, this is the stock,” etc.
But they’re here.
And they’re happy to be here.
I often find myself watching the families—the moms and dads, arms around their kids, nodding to them when something really important is being said. I’m watching true-blue good ole-fashioned parenting in action, and it’s great, but a little bitter sweet.
Like I said, I’m 27. These kids have a 17-year jump on me when it comes to hunting. When they’re my age, they’ll have brought down a big buck or two, they’ll have mastered picking water fowl out of the air—they’ll all be a dern good shot, if they stick with it.
I wasn’t raised-up in the hunting tradition. I knew about guns, sure, my granddad had a taxidermy bear cub in the upstairs bedroom, I got it: there’s such a thing as “hunting,” I just was never brought up with it. To be honest, I’m down-right jealous of these lucky youngsters. Their parents know what they’re doing, they are giving them the opportunity of a lifetime: To become a member of a very special community of outdoor folk.
I can’t fault my parents, if someone isn’t “into” hunting, that’s fine. They didn’t know their daughter would grow up and catch one of the biggest thrills of her life when a friend took her squirrel hunting (Season opens today by the way!). They had no idea she’d grow up to think a Mossberg M51 was “handsome.” Believe me, they had NO IDEA how much I’d love camo (Mossy Oak Blaze Orange, to be exact; we all have our favorites). Although I grew up in the country, had plenty of stray dogs and feral cats to play with, plenty of trees to climb, and my dad gave me free-run of his tools so I could build coon traps for fun, I was never exposed to “The Hunt.”
These kids are blessed to have the chance of being exposed to what I like to call Outdoor Culture. There was some talk of us being a dying breed: the hunters. Its times like this—sitting in a room full of wide-eyed kids (until the sugar rush peters out)—that I really appreciate parents taking the time to include their children in their hobbies, and I would urge more parents to take their kids hunting and fishing. As for me, I’ve realized it’s never too late, there’s a little bit of the 10-year-old left in me, and she’s all-ears (and could use a little sugar herself).
My folks have come around though; they’ve enthusiastically agreed to split the meat (and the cost of processing!) of first deer I get with me. I can see it now, we’ll be sitting around my fire pit, venison burgers cooking on the grill, and they’ll understand, no matter what lifestyle they thought their daughter might have grown up to enjoy.