By Matt Soberg
Teens have a mind of their own, but sometimes, maybe miraculously, they choose the outdoors over all distractions around them.
Growing up is hard these days. Always has been, really. We ask a lot of youth in their teens to start thinking about their futures. Some are ready for that . . . some are not. They are nose deep in technology on smartphones and laptops from high school to college. And, we want them to lock in – to focus on their futures now. That’s a big ask for a kid at 14 or 15 years old. Most will likely change their minds like the wind and weather switches from day to day.
Some teens have goals and a good sense for their desired lifestyle when they become adults. That’s impressive, but most have no idea. I have the pleasure of teaching Career Exploration class to freshmen at the local high school, so I know. I see it. It is fascinating to explore the questions all parents want to know so soon from their kids who are on the cusp of adulthood: What will their passions be? What drives them? Where will they end up? What is the mental foundation that solidifies their future wants, needs, and endeavors?
Those questions are tough to answer. When I ask how his day went, all I got from my teen these days is the obligatory, “Fine.” That’s it. Some of you can attest that communication is grueling sometimes with a 15-year old boy.
When I started wearing my hat backwards in the mid 90s, my grandpa always used to say, “You kids have a mind of your own.” And despite the surety us parents want from our children about their desired future success, he’s definitely not wrong.
I love hunting, think about it all too much, and some would say I have an unhealthy passion to make sure our hunting opportunities continue for our kids and grandkids and beyond. With all the distractions surrounding our children today, and the fact they are simply teens and unpredictable, what does the future hold for hunting and our heritage?
We all know that numbers of hunting licenses are diminishing, year to year, across the nation. And that is of obvious concern. Without the state funding, how can we ensure the appropriate conservation measures necessary to manage future wildlife populations? Not only that, but the constant attacks on hunting are becoming ever evident across the landscape. We need strength in numbers of smart supporters to protect our hunting traditions.
We all know this. But how do we do it? How do we recruit new hunters to sustain numbers for future generations? Sustain is the key word here. Buying a license now is one thing. How do we make certain they continue as adults and pass those traditions on to others down the road?
I think I might know. My grandpa was right. With the onslaught of technology flying in the face of us all, kids these days want choice. They do have a mind of their own. And that is okay. Especially in their teens, they want a sense of control. Offering the next generation a choice to enjoy the outdoors with an unrelenting belief from us that instilling our sacred hunting traditions into them is of utmost importance. Be patient, and this simple tactic might just be the answer. There just may be a glimmer of hope.
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From my mid-teens to early twenties, I’d sleep through the early alarm all too often. My father would trudge down the stairs to my room to wake me up. Like clockwork, he was already three coffees deep and just finishing his grape jelly toast, decked in camo and ready to load the truck for the morning adventure. Ducks, deer, grouse, geese, all be damned.
“Do you wanna go?” he’d ask.
He always gave me the choice. Never once did he forget me.
I’d roll over with a groan and one eye open, wracking my brain to trigger in the wee hours of the morning. I’d contemplate the options – brave the short night to look down the double barrel as the game flew across the sunrise, or roll over once again to get some selfish shut-eye. The decision was easier as a teen. As I grew older and graduated, I had more freedom and independence. My mind was probably more amenable to partying with buddies or chasing girls.
I appreciate that he always gave me the choice. Never once did he forget me.
But looking back, I didn’t always take him up on the option. I wish I would have. I regret now the days I chose the cool side of pillow. I cherish now the days I sucked it up to go.
Because those cold mornings in the duck blind or on the deer stand embracing the lost sleep with a heavy head led to adventures and stories and memories that we know are now all too fleeting. Time flies by way too fast. And in those few hours I chose to sleep, I lost out on the stories I could be writing about today.
He never forgot me. And, I never felt forced. He had an innate sense of the importance of our hunting adventures together. And he was patient with my choice.
***
And then I had a boy of my own. And, here we are at the same crossroads of battling dependence and independence from day to day. I still live to hunt and credit that to experiences growing up in the woods. That’s all because my dad gave me the choice to join him.
A dad wants his kids to be happy. We want our children to grow up and be successful doing what they love. Chances are, they won’t like everything we do. Remember . . . they have a mind of their own. That is reality. For us hunters, we sincerely hope they love the pursuit of game and all that goes along with it as we do. But it is never a guarantee.
Take this last trip out west for example. I had brought up the opportunity to my teenager to hunt deer and birds on the prairies for a four day break. I wanted him to be excited. Sports was busy and school was tough, so I didn’t know the answer for sure, but he thankfully said yes. So we jumped in the truck and hit the road together.
On the way, I thought back to when my dad gave me the choice. Do I choose the tough route understanding the obvious benefits or do I take the easy way out? Hunting in the West is a different animal altogether. Terrain is tough. Walks for miles. Challenging shots. Long days. Sore legs. Both literal and figurative ups and downs. But it is all worth it, and I was proud that my boy was up for the adventure.
And adventure we had. Memories we made. Driving through the night to meet sunrise on the mountain. Bags of beef jerky. Sleeping through an alarm. Afternoon truck naps. Wearing out miles of boot leather. Steak at night. Dogs on point. Multiple shots. More misses than hits. Dad tripping while blitzing a bush. Flushing Huns. Sheds on the ground. Lots of laughs. Bucks in the binoculars. Washed out roads. Feathers in the air. And, the shot he made on a flushing rooster in the waning minutes of the hunt, just before the sunset as the rain came, is a victory and a feeling and hug I’ll never forget.
I gave him a choice to embrace the challenge of the hunt, and he took it. It is never easy and he might not always say yes, but my hope is that he remembers moments like this and aspires to do the same for years to come . . . just as I did back in the day.
And it is pleasing to see how the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree … from generation to generation … there is no assurance my boy will do the same for his kids someday … but all you can do is give them the choice . . . and the experience … and knowing how important these traditions are for all of us, make sure you never – ever – forget about them … create that glimmer of hope . . . just like my dad did for me . . . and his dad for him.
Matt Soberg 