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Leaving A Legacy
by Larry Huff
Upon my return from a hunting trip this past fall I was greeted by my two-year old son (pictured here), who readily informed me that he had on his cammo pants, just like Daddy. Then, he grabbed my hat (which is when I snapped this picture) and informed me that he wanted to go hunting too. Wow, what a realization: my children truly want to do the things I do.
As my wife and I put him to bed that night I was reminded that most everything I do, no matter how insignificant it may seem at the time, sends them a message. I was also reminded that we must not take anything for granted when it comes to raising our children. I not only need to be intentional to spend time with them, but that I must make sure I spend it well.
This was driven home to me a few days later when coaching my 11-year old son’s football team. If he would make a good play on one down, only to take the next one off, my first response was always instruction. Even if I didn’t yell it out to him, I was always consumed with thoughts like “tuck the ball away, look the pass in, don’t bite on that fake” and on and on it went.
While instruction is certainly a good thing, and the sincere desire to help my son succeed is laudable, I was forgetting the very obvious truth that encouragement trumps instruction every time. Unwittingly, the message I was sending was, “you’ve got to do better.”
This became apparent when a close buddy of mine, who I really respect (and who happened to be a starting fullback in a big time Division I program) came to watch a game. Walking to the car afterwards, he put his arm around me and said “Hey bro, you are doing a great job coaching, but just remember: he needs a Dad more than he needs a coach.” Wow! It was one of those moments where I knew he was dead on target and I became very much aware that it was me who was "taking my eye off the ball.”
Again, instruction is a good thing, and an essential endeavor. When it comes to hunting, I want my sons to learn how to safely handle a rifle and a bow. I want them to be good marksmen, to know how to read a compass, mark a trail, and pitch a tent. But in the course of teaching them those things, if I make them wonder if my love is unconditional, or raise doubts in their young minds as to whether or not I am proud of them, I will not have raised them well.
Dialing in to these realities, my mind drifted back to early hunting trips as a young boy with my dad, who has always gone by the nickname "Rock." It was never a mystery how Dad earned this name. He certainly has his faults, but I honestly never saw fear in his eyes, never once. I remember how he dropped game birds with his 12 gauge and how I longed to be able to shoot like that. I remember his field coat from Sears, with the rubber-lined bird pouch in the back, and his black GI boots that I loved to wear around the house when I was a little kid. I remember how proud he was of me when I shot my first squirrel with the little single shot .410 that his Dad had given him. And I remember that he always made those hunting trips fun, even when I messed up and knew it. And even though it was more than 30 years ago, I remember it all like it was yesterday.
Through the course of these recent events with my own sons, and memories of hunting with my Dad, the lesson came home to me anew: I cannot let instruction trump encouragement. Don’t get me wrong, life is hard and I want my sons to be tough. I want to equip them to address life meaningfully, to have courage and bearing. And I know they have to be pressed sometimes to learn those things.
But I suspect that most of the father’s who are willing to hump it up the side of a mountain with a pack and a rifle two hours before daylight, or sit in a freezing cold duck blind in the sleet, probably struggle to err on the side of gentleness; at least I know I do.
That is why I write this: I am compelled to remind myself the things that will really stick with them are the lessons delivered in love; where they know I am "for them." Like not getting overly frustrated when they miss an easy shot, rip their brand new coat on a barb wire fence, or make too much noise in the deer stand. For it is that very reassurance, I believe, that will ultimately give them the confidence to take on the hard things -- because they will never have to waste time questioning my love for them.
It will also allow them to wade into life with the full assurance that who they are is more important than how they perform. God set it up that way because that’s how he treats us. And if we can be intentional about treating our sons the same way (our mistakes notwithstanding) it will not only free them up to be stout men, it will empower them to make their own lasting mark on the world.
So, when I am way too old to hump it up that mountain side, or throw a tight spiral, and the world no longer finds me compelling, if I can get this right now, I know my children will be my legacy, and that is compelling enough for me.
So let's get out there with our kids. Let's relish in the opportunity to pass on the matchless pursuit of hunting. And let's create memories they will never forget. Let’s also teach them well and challenge them hardily. But most of all, let’s love them purely. If we do, we can truly leave an invaluable legacy.
Happy Hunting!
To share your thoughts about this article please email Larry at larry@hunterscampfire.com. Thanks for being a part of the Hunter's Campfire family.
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