On a day that we celebrate thankfulness, I cannot help but think about the people who have gone before me and paved a pathway for part of my journey. I am grateful because they did what I now get to do for my sons and future grandchildren; carve out new courses. Remembering those before us who blazed a trail for our lives and even our existence is so important. Hopefully you have those in your life that you can be thankful for. I understand that some reading this may not. If that is you, then what a wonderful opportunity you have to begin something amazing for your future lineage. Be that trailblazer for them.
Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. There are many reasons why, but two have been engrained in me from a small boy. One I talked about in this week’s Weekly Whetstone; ‘Gratefulness. A Place in a Boy’s Heart.’ The other comes from a passion passed down from my Grandpa Max. Hunting.
The Last Authentic Cowboy
My grandpa was a cowboy. He was not a “drugstore cowboy” in the meaning of the phrase, but he was actually a cowboy who owned a drugstore. I always refer to him as the last authentic cowboy. My grandpa was born in the wrong time. I think I got the same genes. He should have been born in an era where you woke every morning to the crackling of campfire coals and a headache from using your saddle as a pillow. His heart was truly geared toward ranching, hunting, and primitive living principles. He loved the Old West, guns, horses, and hunting. He greatly respected guns and gun safety. He was very direct, bold, and even brash at times as he taught us grandkids how to treat guns. He wanted to pass down his passion for hunting and being in the woods and he wanted to know that we would correctly pass it on to our future families as well.
My grandpa created a pastime for our family by bringing everyone in on Thanksgiving to hunt together. My dad, brother, uncles, and cousins all met Thanksgiving morning for coffee at the ranch. Those morning memories are so vivid and special for me. Men do not create memories by sitting and visiting face to face. We establish bonds and pastimes by actively doing things shoulder to shoulder. My grandpa understood this. I am grateful that he worked hard to orchestrate opportunities for us men and soon to be men, to be men.
The Last Hunt
I loved seeing my grandpa grab his favorite gun and head out to his favorite hunting spots. One particular Thanksgiving morning, my grandpa hunted his last and final hunt. I was a young man at this point, possibly home from college. We all went out to hunt and my grandpa set up in a stand a few hundred yards from me. About mid-morning, I heard a shot. Bam! I came out of my tree stand comatose. Then another, and another. Bam! Bam! “Yes!” I thought. “Get ‘em grandpa!” It had been years since Grandpa had actually taken a deer. Bam! Bam! Bam! After thirteen shots, I thought, “Geez, did he just fill all of our tags?” I was confused but excited. I tried to patiently wait in my stand but was too wound-up wondering what was going on. I think I made it about thirty minutes before I got down from the tree and walked to Grandpa’s stand. He wasn’t there. I looked around for a slew of slain deer. Nothing. What happened?
When I got back to Grandpa’s house, he was there already in his lounge clothes sipping coffee. My uncles were there, and we all began recanting what was going on in our minds when we heard the shots. Someone said, “I thought World War III had just begun!” We were having fun, but Grandpa was not laughing with us. Come to find out, several deer walked out in front of him. He shot and missed. And missed. And missed. After firing the rounds in his rifle, he then, out of frustration unloaded his pistol into the ground. He always carried a pistol everywhere he went. “Now, Max. I’ve told you; you can’t wear your six shooter in town,” were actual words spoken to him on more than one occasion. I told you he was born in the wrong time. As Grandpa fired his last shot from his rifle, he realized that his hunting days were over. This was a very sad and frustrating feeling for him. His eyes weren’t focusing like they should, and his once very steady hands were long gone. I remember the sadness I felt for him that day. He never hunted again.
He has been gone now for the past many Thanksgivings. As hard as it was for him to let that integral part of his life go, I do believe that he took great joy in watching something he started continuing on through his family. He lived a few more years after that last hunt. He still got excited to see everyone gather to hunt.
The older I get, the more I appreciate not only the memories, but the lessons that I have learned from those that went before me. Those, like Grandpa Max, who played a part in who I am today. These memories reveal the importance of creating moments, seasons, and pastimes for my sons. My sons will then pass them on to their children. My grandpa, I’m sure, learned these lessons from his dad or maybe his grandpa. His dad, my great grandpa, was a very influential man in my own dad’s life. He treasures his child-hood memories with him.
Men, to prepare boys to be men in the future, you must give them a past. When our boys become men, they will do one of two things. They will either start from scratch trying to figure out how to be a man, husband, and father, or they will draw upon the years of training, lessons, and memories that you worked hard to provide for them. Please, men, provide your boys a past.
One day I will hunt my last hunt. And so will you. What will we leave our sons with? Hopefully, we will leave them everything we had inside of us.
Happy Thanksgiving to all of you men and women who are putting in the hard work raising this next generation of great men. God bless you and your families this holiday season.
