Opening day of rifle season in North Carolina arrived with the kind of anticipation that sits deep in your chest. I had bowhunted the entire month of September, but this was different.
This was us. Together.
The morning had burned off into a soft, golden afternoon. The wind was right, the air was beginning to cool, and everything about the evening felt promising. Surrey and I hopped out of the truck, boots crunching on gravel, and before we even closed the doors, two does bounded across the forest path into the dark timber. A good omen if there ever was one.
We carried a mismatched set of essentials. My rifle, a Ruger American Predator chambered in 6.5 Creedmoor. A pack stuffed with sugary snacks for eventual bribery. And a makeup box so large it took up nearly the entire backpack. Every few steps it clanked and rattled, its plastic trays shifting like loose change. With every long stride, I could feel the weight of it bounce against my back, reminding me that this hunt would be as much about patience as deer.
The half mile to the stand wound through longleaf pines. The wind was in our favor and carried the dry, earthy sweetness of needles and clay into our noses and behind us. We gingerly climbed the ladder to the box blind, opened the pillbox windows, secured the latches, and adjusted the mesh so we could see out but nothing could see in. Then we settled in our chairs for the long wait.
I made a deal to pass the time. If we stayed until dark, she could give me a makeover. That promise lit her up instantly. Out came the giant box. Powders, brushes, and tubes spilled across the floor. For the next half hour, I sat still while she painted my face like an art project gone rogue. When she finished, she grinned and said I looked beautiful. I looked more like Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs, but I kept that to myself.
As the sun began to drop, the woods came alive. A soft wind brushed through the trees. Twigs cracked in the distance. We glassed the creek bottom where the feeder sat a hundred yards down the lane. A flight of doves scattered dramatically as a doe stepped out to browse, its glowing amber in the fading light. Everything felt still and possible.
Then the test came.
Hour two bled into hour three, and the novelty wore off. Surrey started to squirm. She tapped her boots against the floor, swung her legs, and sighed in that dramatic way only a seven-year-old can.
I tried to shush her gently, but by the third hour, my patience cracked. I finally snapped. Not loud, but sharp enough to make her eyes widen and her shoulders sink. The second it left my mouth, I regretted it. The blind went quiet. Even the woods seemed to hold its breath.
Then came another sound, almost as if the forest itself was watching. A single twig broke right beneath us. I lifted the mesh and peered down. A young five point buck stood directly under the blind, close enough to see the twitch of his ears. He looked up, calm and curious. For a few seconds, we just stared at each other, two creatures trying to read intent in the stillness. Then he flicked his tail and drifted off toward the back field.
We agreed to let him walk. I knew it was the right call, but part of me wondered if that would be the only chance of the night. The air cooled further. Shadows grew long. The light slid from orange to blue, and I felt that familiar pull between patience and expectation.
Surrey started to fidget again. I wanted to hush her, but this time I caught myself.
She’s seven.
She’s doing her best.
And I realized, so was I.
I looked at her and saw the freckles on her nose, the pink shimmer of blush smeared across her cheek, the small hands that will someday be held by someone who loves her as much as I do. One day she’ll be grown, and I’ll miss this. The sound of her feet tapping. The way her curiosity fills every quiet space. Hell, even the box stand makeover.
I set down the binoculars and told her I was sorry for snapping. She looked at me and said she was sorry for fidgeting. We hugged, and for a while, we just sat there together, saying nothing.
As the last light faded and the crickets began their evening chorus, I realized that this is fatherhood. Not the pursuit of a perfect hunt or perfect behavior, but the patience that lives in the final quarter. The grace that shows up when we choose understanding over frustration.
The deer will come and go. The seasons will too.
But the memory of a little girl painting her father’s face in a blind on opening day will live in my mind forever.
Because the hunt was never about what we brought home.
It was about the time spent waiting together, learning how to see.
FIELD
Taking a kid hunting isn’t about perfection. It’s about patience, presence, and making memories that stick. A few things that help:
1. Bring more snacks than you think you need.
Quiet kids come from full bellies. Think soft foods, easy to eat, and nothing that crinkles.
2. Keep it short and smart.
Don’t get in earlier than you have to. Save their focus for prime time.
3. Give them a role.
Let them glass, range, or whisper what they see. Purpose keeps them still.
4. Celebrate curiosity.
They’ll whisper a hundred questions. Answer what you can. Curiosity turns moments into memories.
5. End with gratitude.
Whether you see deer or not, thank the woods and the time you shared. That’s what they’ll remember.
MINDSET: The Quiet Teachings
Kids learn more from how we handle frustration than from what we say about it. The quiet after a disruption, and the steady tone that follows will stay with them longer than any lesson we try to teach.
This week, focus on restraint and recovery.
When you feel that edge creeping in, pause before you speak.
Lower your voice and steady your tone.
Tell them why you got upset, then remind them you love them.
You’re not just teaching patience. You are teaching emotional composure, the quiet strength that builds trust and shapes character.
Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them.
James Baldwin
When your daughter/son is on their first date and is asked, “What is your dad like?” what would you want them to say?
