The Hunter
Meet Sam. He’s my 15-year-old son. This photo marks one of his proudest moments: He’s poised to cook a plucked and trussed pheasant he tracked and shot all by himself last fall. He even found his own recipe for the dish in “Joy of Cooking.”
His dad took him to a state-sponsored pheasant hunt for kids. Sam bagged two ringnecks. Sam and his dad (he and I divorced in 2000) spend time together many weekends in Utah’s west desert, target shooting and rabbit hunting.
How can a good liberal and gun-control advocate justify such Neanderthal behavior? How can I support Sam’s love of shotguns, and his pursuit of certain furry and feathered creatures? How do I square it with anti-cruelty beliefs?
Only this: Sam’s understanding of guns, his ability to use them safely and with skill (he’s a graduate of the National Rifle Association’s firearms safety training) impresses me. More than that, it pleases me. Sam hasn’t shown much interest in playing a musical instrument. He hasn’t gone out for high school sports. Yes, he loves video games. But shooting? It’s probably highest on his list.
He knows how to handle firearms. He respects their power. He also respects life; knows how to make a quick kill to help alleviate an animal’s suffering. As pacifist as I am, I’ve always understood that licensed hunting has a place in nature. People who do it legally, with skill and ethics, are performing an environmental service.
Just don’t ask me to ever, ever pull a trigger myself. I would crumble and fall in a heap.
I’m happy about Sam’s hobby. I have a handful of photos his dad took shortly after he shot his two pheasants. Sam’s grin is as genuine and wide as any kid’s who might have just sunk a 3-point basket or run 60 yards for a touchdown.
His shooting ability gives him huge confidence. That’s scarcely pigeon feed in a world where so many teenage boys are perpetually stoned, or lonely, or isolated, or aimlessly violent, or all of the above.
January 21st, 2007 at 11:54 am
Not to worry,in a previous life I belonged to a social group that spent time bird hunting.Argentina (doves),England (driven pheasant) and Saskatchewan (ducks).Now my home is an official bird sanctuary of Sonoma co.,giving refuge to quail and wild turkeys…though the latter sorely try my patience with their love for wine grapes…..
January 26th, 2007 at 8:41 am
Like most boys who were raised in the west, I learned how to shoot guns. Unlike most of those boys, however, I never had any interest in pointing them at a living being and firing them. I just knew that I couldn’t do that right from the start.
That said, good for Sam! He’s filling a necessary role I have abandoned: predator. In the long run, the pheasants and other wild animals will be better off because him. And it keeps him off the streets and out of trouble to boot!