Adopt a sportsman, save a collection
I’m sitting in the restaurant, minding my own business, when I hear a voice lamenting the fact that, “My kids don’t hunt! They don’t shoot! They don’t even like guns, for goodness sake! What’s a guy supposed to do? Who will I leave my gun collection to?”
Like a lightning bolt, like the proverbial silver dagger, like a speeding locomotive, I erupt from my seat, sprinting across the room. Alright, as fast as I can trot these days. I leave my breakfast buddy in the lurch. We have business. Extending my hand to this unfamiliar gentleman, I introduce myself as his newly adopted son. His look is quizzical. “I don’t understand,” he says. “That’s OK, because I understand for the both of us. I overheard your worries as to who will inherit your sizable gun collection. Never fear … I’m from the government and I’m here to help!”
His first impression was that of confronting a madman. Basic fear took over. As our conversation moved forward and the waitress refilled our coffee, his willingness to listen surfaced, appearing to understand the reasonableness of my statements. He quipped, “You’re that guy from the newspaper.” I denied it, fervently. By the time we finished our pow wow, I was hoping to have his buy-in for my scheme. I’ll lay out my master plan, in the lines to follow. I’m sure the ensuing fan mail will only serve to cement these efforts. Donations will certainly roll in. Here’s how the formula goes:
This column started out as a joke but might have already grown bigger than the both of us. That cherished firearm that we hold in the highest esteem, is valued far beyond any others we have known. There might be some sentimental attachment to said piece or it just might be a long sought-after, hard-won favorite. It’s special to us and that’s all that counts. For folks of our circumstance, for whatever reason, our offspring, if we even have any, show relatively no interest in the hunting, fishing, shooting game. Call it bad parenting, but our kids just never found the joy in these outdoor pursuits that we gleaned. We are growing older. We hold out in hope that our grandchild will one day tote the old blunderbuss into the field and think fine thoughts of “Old Pap.” The next generation will look lovingly upon this relic and recall fond times spent in pursuit of game and the hunting and fishing heritage will live on, for one more generation, at least. Fade to black. Roll credits.
The stark reality is that the guy/girl who marries our non-hunting son/daughter might likely not be a hunter. Chances of their kid being a hunter lessens. With the odds against us, we need a Hail Mary play. Desperate times call for desperate measures, we need to think outside the box. We’re losing hunters at a rate faster than we care to admit. My plan addresses this decline and proposes to do something about it, beyond the standard complaining and harkening for the good ole’ days and how we always did it.
Take a senior – obviously, someone older than my youthful 58 years. He/she amassed a significant collection and wonders. What will become of my cherished double? In order to ensure that such a fine pointing scattergun ends up in the hands of a truly appreciative bird aficionado with appropriate training and skill, we form a board of directors. A like-minded assemblage of old geezers who have the best interests of the youngsters in mind. We meet for coffee, once per month or so, and we screen applicants for the program. Mind you, we’re not just giving away valuable heirlooms here. We want hunters who are motivated to cause. We are looking for the youth of tomorrow who want to be up at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning, raring to go. We want kids who celebrate the first day, willing to slog through bog mud, carrying dozens of decoys. We want strong backs to drag deer, and possibly us, out of the woods post-cardiac-event. We develop a masters level mentorship of hunting partners. Each kid will get the opportunity to hunt with a bevy of qualified outdoor enthusiasts who are glad to introduce junior to the great outdoors. The neophyte must master a series of tasks like proper field dressing of game, map and compass orientation, firearm handling and safety, marksmanship, etc., etc. And don’t think we are limiting this effort to just kids. Mom and dad will be most welcome to join in the fun even though they have no background in the shooting sports. They will be the “sixth man” at the ready should they be needed, learning with their kid.
Next we form a calendar schedule of the seasons that will rotate a mentor of expertise with an interested youth: duck, deer, turkey, squirrel, pheasant, supplemented with trap, skeet and sporting clays. By the time the kid has spent three or four fall/winter rotations with the likes of us, they will have truly displayed their mettle or have run to the hills to hide from us. If candidates last, they will receive something truly remarkable upon their commencement: a treasured memory; a firearm of a lifetime. Maybe even a scholarship derived from less valuable contributions to the group.
Therefore, I am putting myself up for adoption this week in the hopes that there is some kindly old guy out there who wants to get the ball rolling by adopting a slightly A.D.H.D., O.C.D, former athlete, writer, who enjoys long walks in the woods, early morning sunrises, black coffee and doughnuts. I have my own pickup truck. Together, we can do great things. Call me.
Dave Bates writes a weekly outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter. He can be reached at alphaomegashootingsolutions@gmail.