Rites of Passage… It’s not just for Ancient History

We packed the cafeteria; all my buddies and their dads circled around long tables with pens and pencils and the coveted Tennessee Hunter’s Education Book. The TWRA officer walked around and instructed us as he clicked slide after slide. Every night I flipped through my book and read it over and over again. I memorized the actions in shotguns and rifles and all the common calibers. I took copious notes and rested on the instructor’s every word. It had all started when Dad had this idea to see if our school would host a hunter’s education course. They agreed and tons of kids from my school (mostly boys) and parents gathered for a few nights to learn the tenants of gun safety and hunter etiquette. The final test would come on a cold October Saturday where we all met at the local gun range for our shooting test. The bookwork was easy; the shooting exam tested our mettle. That morning, we scarfed down donuts and waited our turn in misery. We were scared to death, frightened of a simple mistake, of not checking to see if the gun was loaded (a failing offense), or even worse, getting eye-punched by the scope of the big 30-06. The instructor had set up each corral with a gun, starting with a pellet gun and moving up to the biggest caliber shotguns and rifles. As kids, a bragging point was shooting a big gun that kicked hard. We’d all brag and talk about our harrowing experiences, but this day was the great equalizer, we’d all shoot the same guns and end with the big boys. Those that had fibbed all year had nowhere to hide. This moment was a modern day rite of passage, and up to the moment of taking the test, we talked, bragged, chided, and giggled. At the end of the day we all graduated with flying colors, and stepped a little higher, leaving with a common bond. I hunted with three other men the day I killed my first animal. It was a wood duck, a beautiful drake with the slicked back green and black head feathers bordered by the white stripes; it looked like the mohawk hair of a punk rocker, yet on the duck, it was breathtaking. I must have been 8 or 9 and it was my first duck hunt. I still remember everyone present: UA Moore (my virtual godfather), Mr. Floyd Crane, and my dad. The duck flew in among the decoys and the men gave me first shot. I propped up my new single shot .410 and put the bead on the bird. When I pulled the trigger, the men cheered. The smoke cleared and I saw that beautiful duck lying over in the water. We went down to retrieve it and I stared the rest of the morning at that bird, dealing with those mixed feelings of guilt and pride that comes with every hunter that is conscientious with his game. One of the things I’ve mourned for kids today is we lack rites of passage, or challenges toward maturity. Tribal cultures have a long history of placing their kids in a conflict, a test that the young prepare for and once succeeding, they are welcomed into the community officially as a man or a woman. It may have been surviving out in the jungles for a number of days, or it may have been the slaying of a certain animal. Whatever it was, the young performed within a community of adults that instructed them on things that were important to a functioning member in the tribe or community. But much of parenting today has become a spectator sport. We take them to practices, hire “experts” to throw ball with Johnny, and watch Suzie play games. We cheer, we pay for their improvement, but actually doing the instruction is quickly becoming a thing for the amateur past. There’s nothing wrong with having your kids involved in activities, I’m fine with that to an extent. Yet, there is something missing as we prepare them for the world beyond our home. Now, I played sports all my life, but it was in the outdoors that I felt like I was face to face with life-long adult lessons. Things like learning the huge power and responsibility of handling a firearm, or learning to provide food for myself by using a hook or gun, and dealing with the reality that for me to live, something must die. In the woods with dad I learned how to orient myself depending on the sun or reading a map and compass. In a community of men and fellow boys I learned how to build a fire and make a stove from a coffee can. All these things gave me confidence that I could handle myself in the worst situations in life, and dad was there to coach me all the way. So maybe, this year, consider taking a birthday trip to the woods or water and craft up a challenge for both you and your kid to join together, maybe something like a survival night or rustic camp out. Invite some other kids and their parents, even. It’ll be fun, it could be educational, but whatever happens, it’ll be a memory—hopefully one that will help them translate from childhood to adult.