May 23, 2025 • 25 mins
It's graduation time and Brent's talking about the struggles we all go through during this period of life. Students may have a different perspective on things than their parents, and some youngsters are more prepared for the world than others. Brent shares a profound coming of age tale from a listener and talks about his experiences both as a student, parent, and observer that gives him hope for us all.
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:05):
Welcome to this country Life.
Speaker 2 (00:06):
I'm your host, Brent Reeves from cone hunting to trot
lining and just general country living.
Speaker 1 (00:12):
I want you to stay.
Speaker 2 (00:13):
Awhile as I share my experiences and life lessons. This
country Life is presented by Case Knives on Meat Eaters
Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcast.
Speaker 1 (00:25):
The airwaves have to offer.
Speaker 2 (00:27):
All right, friends, grab a chair or drop that tailgate.
I've got some stories to share. Letting go. Life lessons
arrive in various vessels during our natural maturation and understanding
of the world around us. We advance in knowledge of
(00:49):
the things in our environments incrementally, a little bit at
a time, allowing us to see and experience the real
world in advancing degrees of complexity. It's how we learn
the good in the world and the harsh realities of
the same space. This first story is a prime example
(01:09):
of what can happen when you least expected. It's a
discussion as mentors, a responsibility to make our young ones
know parents can prepare them for everything, and when they're
out of our reach, they have to be.
Speaker 1 (01:24):
Prepared for anything.
Speaker 2 (01:26):
It's a little heavy, but I think it's important, and
we'll finish up with a celebration, but before we do,
I'm going to tell you the story. This one comes
from Ken Nysley. Ken's from New Holland, Pennsylvania, and he
(01:47):
shared the following story. I think it says a lot
on many different levels, but I'm gonna let you decide
for yourself what it all says without any bias from
me to begin with.
Speaker 1 (01:59):
So, in Ken's word, in my voice, here we go.
Speaker 2 (02:04):
Sometimes in life it feels like the Good Lord has
a way of shining down on you, or maybe it's
just plain.
Speaker 1 (02:10):
Luck that comes your way when you least expected.
Speaker 2 (02:13):
I was the oldest child in a family where my
father didn't hunt, and that was a heavy burden to bear.
I often thought it was one of the most unfair
things life had helped me. While my friends boasted about
their fathers taking them hunting and flowning their trophies with
deer hanging proudly from the meadpoles, I was left to
stew and jealousy. Growing up on a chicken farm, my
(02:37):
days were filled with gathering eggs and feeding the animals,
and from what seemed like from dawn till dusk, I
longed for the.
Speaker 1 (02:45):
Thrill of the hunt.
Speaker 2 (02:45):
The chance to roam the woods and discover the wild
life didn't seem fair, not one little bit, And as
a boy of fourteen or fifteen, I felt that burning
desire to learn the ways of hunting, to step into
that world that seems so tantalizingly out of reach. I
had my father's old twenty two it's made in nineteen
(03:06):
o six to keep the squirrels and the blue jays
away from the cowd trees, but I yearned for something more.
The azer came from my cousin Ernie, a farm boy
like me, a few years older, with similar daily responsibilities.
But Ernie had found a way to slip away from
the farm into those magical woods, chasing after whitetail. Before long,
(03:30):
he gathered us cousins with fathers who didn't hunt, and
began teaching.
Speaker 1 (03:33):
Us the ropes.
Speaker 2 (03:35):
He showed us our first rubs and how to spot
the markings on saplings. Ernie taught us about scrapes and
trails and tracks, and how to decipher the droppings, and
how to watch the wind figure out where that buck
might cross our path. We put in the time, scouted,
and rose early to drive to our hunting spots, but
success didn't come as easily as out hope. For Ernie,
(03:59):
it seemed very He backed a ten corner on opening day,
and my heart burned with a fierce desire to following
his footsteps. I had to get my first deer, but
it felt like such a distant dream. One day, Ernie
shared the news that he got permission to hunt a
farm forty five minutes away, a place that held the
(04:19):
promise of adventure. So early one Saturday morning, Ernie, our
cousin Butch, and I set off the air crisped with anticipation.
Ernie guided me off the dirt lane is flashlight dancing
among the trees. He told me to find a tree
and climb up, and I felt the thrill of excitement
as I hoisted that Baker's style tree stand up the trunk,
(04:41):
hugging that tree tightly as I climbed higher and higher
until I found my perch.
Speaker 1 (04:47):
Sounds effortless, but it wasn't. He had to shut your
brain off.
Speaker 2 (04:51):
What was happening to your chest as you did your
aerobics in that tree, climbing up higher and higher. And
it was normal back then for me to have bruised
and scraped up chest during hunting season. Once I got settled,
I pulled my remy till eight seventy up with me,
I loaded it and I sat in silence, watching the
(05:11):
world awaken around me. Time seemed to stretch as I
watched squirrels, and then a dough stepped into view. My
heart raised as I raised my shotgun, I squeezed the trigger,
and I watched her bolt a mere ten yards before
falling over. And at that moment I transformed from a
boy waiting for his chance to become a triumphant hunter
(05:34):
to finally claiming my first deer. Now, after the season closed,
Ernie and I began planning for next year. We returned
to the public land we had hunted the year before,
but look it eluded me. Weekend after weekend we hunted,
but deer number two was nowhere to be found. And
(05:56):
then Ernie mentioned that farm, the same place that had
brought me good fortune the year before, and with a
flicker of hope, I agreed. So once more we set
off of that familiar place, and I found myself climbing
the same tree one year later. Little did I know
that that day would test my very being and make
(06:17):
me question whether I ever.
Speaker 1 (06:19):
Wanted to hunt again. At daybreak, several doors wandered into
the clearing. I raised my age seventy.
Speaker 2 (06:26):
I aimed carefully and I shot, and the deer took off,
and I shot again, and to my surprise, one of
them fell. Now I already had taught me that you
need to wait awhile before you get down from your
tree to give the animal time to expire. But I
could see from my perch that that dough I shot
was trying but unable to get up and needed to
(06:48):
be finished off. I had two shells left, and I
made the choice to use my next last shell, and
I needed to do it quickly, and I climbed down
and I walked up and I did what had to
be done.
Speaker 1 (07:01):
But a heavy weight replaced the.
Speaker 2 (07:03):
Joy in my heart, as I did not want that
animal to suffer. We dragged that deer back to the truck,
and as we drove towards the store that was also
a check station, I continued to fight with queasiness and
feel good, and the unease settled deep within me. My
cousins debated whether to grab hot dogs and drinks, and
(07:24):
it was all I could do to shake the queasiness
that crept into my stomach image of that deer struggling
as I approached it that it haunted me, and I
knew what I had done was necessary, but bothered me.
The thrill of the hunt had soured, and I wondered
if I was cut out for this life.
Speaker 1 (07:46):
As we pulled into the.
Speaker 2 (07:47):
Parking lot, another truck roared in beside, his tires screeching
on the pavement. The driver swung open his door as
I stepped out on the pastor's side. To my shocking heart,
I saw his window explode in.
Speaker 1 (07:58):
A shower of glass.
Speaker 2 (08:00):
It rained like confetti all around our feet, and my
heart raised as I went on high alert. What I
saw next rashed it up the turmoil of my stomach considerably,
and blood ran down the man's face. And this wasn't
a sight encountered where I lived. But what happened next
was even more serric. He locked eyes with me, and
before I knew it, he grabbed me, wrapping his arms
(08:22):
around me and shaking me fiercely. His breath came in
ragged gasp as he uttered the words that would forever
be etched in my memory. Take me to Greenwood, Take
me to the hospital. That boy of mine unshot me
and my wife. In that instant, my sixteen year old
mine went into overdrive, spinning wildly on the gravel in
(08:44):
my brain, and I stood frozen and grappling with the
reality of what I was seeing and experiencing physically. And
then a bystander came rushing up, claiming he knew the
injured man and he would take him for help. Washed
over me as he let go and climbed into the
(09:04):
other man's vehicle. The grim reality of that morning waenthed
heavily on me, and as we pieced together the story,
we learned that the man's son had shot at his truck.
A tiny hole in the passenger side window told the tale,
and the bullet grazed his face. It was one lucky man,
but it seemed like I was one unlucky boy. The
(09:28):
beauty of that morning, with its crisp bear and the
promise of adventure, had been shattered in an instant. I
returned home that day with more than just a deer
in the back of the truck. I carried the weight
of a harsh lesson. Learned the thrill of the hunt
had been tainted by the harsh realities of life and death,
(09:51):
and I questioned whether I could ever enjoy it again.
And yet as time passed, I came to understand that
hunting is a part of life, life and a life
that is often unpredictable and filled with both joy, sorrow
and unpredictability. It's been forty four years since that day.
In every fall, I still find myself wondering the woods,
(10:14):
feeling the pull of nature and the thrill of the hunt.
Every now and then, my mind drifts back to that
faithful day when a young boy faced the harsh realities
of the world.
Speaker 1 (10:26):
And it was a.
Speaker 2 (10:27):
Hard lesson, but it helped the shape be into the
hunter and a man I am today. I've learned to
embrace the experience and a camaraderie with family and friends,
and respect for the life that sustains us all. And
according to Ken Nicely, that's just how that happened. Now
(10:51):
in this episode, I'm talking about our young ones, maturity
and moving about out of our direct control. And there's
so many things within Ken's story that it spoke Jimmy.
Speaker 1 (11:02):
His passion for.
Speaker 2 (11:03):
The outdoors, his respect for wildlife, his duty and responsibility
as an ethical hunter, and as a young man caught
in a situation beyond his control. All things that we
can influence as parents. If something like that can happen
in the middle of rural Pennsylvania, it can happen anywhere.
(11:24):
And while we can't and shouldn't live in fear, we
have to remain ever vigilant. That's a lesson for any age.
Speaker 1 (11:35):
Thanks for sharing.
Speaker 2 (11:36):
Ken May is a transition month, and where I live,
spring is beginning to give way to summer. Turkey hunting
activity starts tapering off Yearling bear cubs begin looking for
their own space, and high school seniors say goodbye to
(11:59):
one way of life.
Speaker 1 (12:00):
And they'll load to another. Twelve years is a long time,
thirteen if you count kindergarten, and how could you not.
For many of us, it was the end of a
different era as well as the beginning of a new one.
Work for many families these days is a husband and
wife partnership. The days of housewives and stay at home
(12:22):
moms are now the exception to the rule, when only
a generation or so ago it was the standard. Things change.
I get it.
Speaker 2 (12:29):
They have to change in order for us to progress,
and I'm not big on change, but don't misunderstand me.
I'm not advocating for moms, wives, husbands, or dads to
stay at home. I'm merely pointing out the fact that
things change. We lived in Star City, Arkansas for a
short period of time. This was before I started school
and rising. My mama didn't work then, and I remember
(12:53):
going outside to get milk and butter off the steps
early in the mornings with her that the milkman had
delivered way before daylight. I spent all day with her
every day and would until I started kindergarten.
Speaker 1 (13:07):
When I did, I didn't want to go.
Speaker 2 (13:10):
Everything I knew and was familiar with was there within
the confines of her companionship and our routine. That was
safety and security and all the things I associated with
living Unnaturally, one wouldn't want.
Speaker 1 (13:24):
To deviate from that routine.
Speaker 2 (13:26):
But the big yellow bus, in the case of all
younguns growing up in the country, when I did, waited
for us all.
Speaker 1 (13:34):
There was no escape.
Speaker 2 (13:36):
At some point during my sixty year of life, I
had to get on the biggest conveyance I'd ever seen
and trust the driver with my life and my schedule.
On top of all that, my Mama made me get
on it, and I felt a trade you have to
go to school, Brent, a phrase that would be repeated
to me by her for the next twelve years. Range
(14:00):
us back to what I started this oration out with
five paragraphs ago, the month of May. The past few
weeks on social media has been full of pictures of
a child's last time in whatever grade they're in, each
parent announcing the pride and the milestones that their kids
are carrying out. But it's the parents of the seniors
that get most of my attention. I'm glad my mama
(14:23):
didn't have Facebook back when I was in school. Her
post would have been something like, can't believe Brent got
out of the sixth grade without going to prison. Here's
to a great summer a Lenia judge and juvenile probation.
Not really, but it could have been. There's a lot
to unpack for those parents and students, regardless of if
(14:44):
it's the first time for each or just another in
a succession of graduating offspring. It's hard thing to do,
at least it was for me on both ends. Yet
it is the natural progression in life. For eighteen years,
we nurture and train, to teach discipline and provide the
foundation for our children. To function in society, to take
(15:07):
care of themselves, and hopefully become an asset to the
community of humans inhabiting this spending over confusion that we
all share. I think back to what it was like
when my oldest graduated that time. My youngest wasn't even
born yet. Now I cried like a baby. I ain't
vaccinated against squalling about it now just thinking about it.
(15:29):
And my oldest daughter, Aimy, graduated sixteen years ago. I've
never wanted any of them to leave, but I also
know that that's not how it works, or should work.
I was one of them at one time, and I
couldn't wait to get out on my own. The excitement
and the anxiousness of the future and seeing what was
(15:49):
just over the next hill is how we got to
this country in the beginning. It's also how the folks
that were already here called smallpox and ran out of Buffalo.
Good and bad in everything. Growing up and growing older,
it's no different. I worked in the woods for different
(16:11):
forestry concerns until I became old enough to work in
law enforcement, the career I chosen for myself in elementary school,
when I realized I couldn't grow up to be a
mountain man or a Hollywood stunt man. Now, thirty three
years of police work later, I'm not sure that stunt
man things didn't actually work out.
Speaker 1 (16:29):
It sure feels like it sometimes.
Speaker 2 (16:32):
My parents did all they could do to prepare me
for life outside the nest. My teachers and coaches, several
of whom I've mentioned on here, did the same, and
I didn't pay much attention to any of them. My
life had been a mission of fun to that point,
with nothing else really mattering, and tomorrow would always be tomorrow.
(16:54):
There's always time when you're young and getting older and
growing up with something you wished for but never realized.
It was like Christmas and getting the driver's license, or
going on a first date, hanging out uptown on the
weekends on Friday and Saturday night. It would take forever
for those times to get here, but when they finally did, man,
(17:14):
we're going to have fun forever and it will never end.
And then it gets here the keys to the family car,
a curfew and a little spending money. Two years from now,
I'll graduate high school and then it's worker college. Either way,
that's two years and forever away.
Speaker 1 (17:31):
But it's not in the blink of an eye, it's over.
Speaker 2 (17:37):
Even when I found myself filling out graduation announcements and
staring straight down the double barrel shotgun of reality, it
seemed like there was always time until there was I've
seen that look on some parents' faces over the past
few weeks, perients in my family and those of family
friends who were seemingly changing diapers one day and schedule
(18:00):
in college and trade school visits the next. Now I've
done it twice myself in two thousand and nine and
two thousand and sixteen. I have one more to go.
Six years from now. Six years fifty two thousand, five
hundred and sixty hours, two thousand, one hundred and ninety
(18:20):
one days. Now, that would be a long time to
be in jail, a long time to work at a
job that you didn't like, and an even longer time
to be sick. But the last six years of having
your child at home, Man, it burns by so quick
you can't even smell the smoke. At the end of
(18:48):
the next six years, my baby girl Bailey and my
oldest granddaughter Piper will graduate high school the same year,
and I may need medication. Six may be the most
important six years in preparation for the rest of their lives,
and I would argue that anyway, this was a critical
(19:09):
time for me and how I saw the world, or
in all actuality, I didn't see it. I relied on
manners and charming my teachers to get me through school
and studying, and half the effort I put towards football
and everything else. But school would have served me well
beyond furthering my education. I didn't know how to study.
(19:30):
I could halfway pay attention in class, do well enough
to pass, and keep my grades good enough to stay
in sports and keep my mother at bay. I saw
the same thing in my son, Hunter, who I never
saw crack a book all during high school, and he
graduated near the top of his class of nearly a
thousand students, only a few tenths of a point away
(19:55):
from perfection. But even he got slapped in the face
with a had radic reality when he got to college
by not being prepared on out of study. Alexis warned him,
college is going to be different, Bubba. He had to
scramble and teach himself how to do that all on
his own.
Speaker 1 (20:13):
But he did it. But it wasn't easy.
Speaker 2 (20:16):
The fact is that's all different, college work, making a
life for yourself, whatever it is they choose to do
at Our job from the moment we bring them home
from the hospital is to prepare them for the last
time they walk out the door. Is our possessions. It's
not our job to prepare the world for our children.
(20:37):
It's to prepare our children for the world. When the
opposite of that is the easiest, running interference, fighting their battles,
letting them win, and ignoring the negatives makes for a
happier child, but a sadder adult because reality is cruel
and it spares no one. Alexis and I won't Bailey
(20:58):
to succeed in everything she does, but we also know,
as hard as it is to watch, that she has
to fail and experience loss. The lesson, then, is how
she deals with it, and that's our job. Accepting loss
and using it to learn and get better is the
only way you learn and get better. That's how we
(21:21):
prepare her for the times when we're not there, and
the decisions that she makes, good or bad, and how
she reacts to the outcomes rest on how we've prepared
her for those moments. Being humble and triumph and gracious
and loss. Both of those are hard to do, and
I don't know which is harder. I'm no shining example
(21:43):
of either. What I am is barely intelligent enough to
realize how much better I would be as a man
of faith, husband, father, a brother, and a friend if
I was. And that's the best thing that we can
do for our children in the community in which they live,
is to teach them not to be like us, but
(22:04):
to be like what we wish we were and want
them to be. Last weekend, our little family spent Saturday
and Sunday eating barbecue and crawfish, celebrating two graduates from
our circle of friends who are just like our family.
Two high school seniors, Trevor and Savannah, sweethearts all through school,
(22:26):
both shining examples of what a young lady and a
young man would be if nineteen fifties Hollywood had.
Speaker 1 (22:33):
Written them as a TV show. Neither of them related
to me by blood.
Speaker 2 (22:39):
Our closest relative would probably be Adam and Eve, but
they are my family by choice, and in the last
couple of years, I've watched them and how they interact
with adults, their siblings, the friends of their siblings, and
they not only restored my hope for the future.
Speaker 1 (22:56):
When Bailey and.
Speaker 2 (22:57):
Piper reached that age, they help restore or my faith
that there have to be others just like the ones
the news outlets don't cover or talk about, the ones
you never hear from, because that's not news these days,
and the prime reason I don't watch it. I saw
all the news I needed this weekend, trying to stay
in the shade in front of a fan while we
(23:18):
laughed at pictures of our two seniors, baby pictures, and
some from six years ago, the age Bailey is now,
and six years from now, the majority of the people
I spent Saturday and Sunday with will gather again to
celebrate her and her friends. It is a day I
dread and look forward to, all at the same time.
(23:42):
Later this summer, Trevor and Savannah will move off to college,
and for a while we'll be sad they're gone, and
then it will be just a part of life as
we all settle into the new routine of their absence.
If we have done our jobs, we will have prepared
our children on how to survive without us. Unfortunately, no
(24:04):
one gives us lessons on how to survive without them.
We have to take comfort that we've done our best
that we can, and we pray for them and trust
that they listened, even if only remotely better than I did.
Speaker 1 (24:23):
Good luck to all of you. Whether it's college, trade schools, military,
or straight to work. We're counting on you and we
believe in.
Speaker 2 (24:33):
And thanks to all of you who have joined us
here on the Bear Grease channel each week. Clay and
I appreciate it, and we appreciate it very much.
Speaker 1 (24:42):
Until next week. This is Brent Reeves signing off. Y'all
be careful
Welcome to this country Life.
Speaker 2 (00:06):
I'm your host, Brent Reeves from cone hunting to trot
lining and just general country living.
Speaker 1 (00:12):
I want you to stay.
Speaker 2 (00:13):
Awhile as I share my experiences and life lessons. This
country Life is presented by Case Knives on Meat Eaters
Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcast.
Speaker 1 (00:25):
The airwaves have to offer.
Speaker 2 (00:27):
All right, friends, grab a chair or drop that tailgate.
I've got some stories to share. Letting go. Life lessons
arrive in various vessels during our natural maturation and understanding
of the world around us. We advance in knowledge of
(00:49):
the things in our environments incrementally, a little bit at
a time, allowing us to see and experience the real
world in advancing degrees of complexity. It's how we learn
the good in the world and the harsh realities of
the same space. This first story is a prime example
(01:09):
of what can happen when you least expected. It's a
discussion as mentors, a responsibility to make our young ones
know parents can prepare them for everything, and when they're
out of our reach, they have to be.
Speaker 1 (01:24):
Prepared for anything.
Speaker 2 (01:26):
It's a little heavy, but I think it's important, and
we'll finish up with a celebration, but before we do,
I'm going to tell you the story. This one comes
from Ken Nysley. Ken's from New Holland, Pennsylvania, and he
(01:47):
shared the following story. I think it says a lot
on many different levels, but I'm gonna let you decide
for yourself what it all says without any bias from
me to begin with.
Speaker 1 (01:59):
So, in Ken's word, in my voice, here we go.
Speaker 2 (02:04):
Sometimes in life it feels like the Good Lord has
a way of shining down on you, or maybe it's
just plain.
Speaker 1 (02:10):
Luck that comes your way when you least expected.
Speaker 2 (02:13):
I was the oldest child in a family where my
father didn't hunt, and that was a heavy burden to bear.
I often thought it was one of the most unfair
things life had helped me. While my friends boasted about
their fathers taking them hunting and flowning their trophies with
deer hanging proudly from the meadpoles, I was left to
stew and jealousy. Growing up on a chicken farm, my
(02:37):
days were filled with gathering eggs and feeding the animals,
and from what seemed like from dawn till dusk, I
longed for the.
Speaker 1 (02:45):
Thrill of the hunt.
Speaker 2 (02:45):
The chance to roam the woods and discover the wild
life didn't seem fair, not one little bit, And as
a boy of fourteen or fifteen, I felt that burning
desire to learn the ways of hunting, to step into
that world that seems so tantalizingly out of reach. I
had my father's old twenty two it's made in nineteen
(03:06):
o six to keep the squirrels and the blue jays
away from the cowd trees, but I yearned for something more.
The azer came from my cousin Ernie, a farm boy
like me, a few years older, with similar daily responsibilities.
But Ernie had found a way to slip away from
the farm into those magical woods, chasing after whitetail. Before long,
(03:30):
he gathered us cousins with fathers who didn't hunt, and
began teaching.
Speaker 1 (03:33):
Us the ropes.
Speaker 2 (03:35):
He showed us our first rubs and how to spot
the markings on saplings. Ernie taught us about scrapes and
trails and tracks, and how to decipher the droppings, and
how to watch the wind figure out where that buck
might cross our path. We put in the time, scouted,
and rose early to drive to our hunting spots, but
success didn't come as easily as out hope. For Ernie,
(03:59):
it seemed very He backed a ten corner on opening day,
and my heart burned with a fierce desire to following
his footsteps. I had to get my first deer, but
it felt like such a distant dream. One day, Ernie
shared the news that he got permission to hunt a
farm forty five minutes away, a place that held the
(04:19):
promise of adventure. So early one Saturday morning, Ernie, our
cousin Butch, and I set off the air crisped with anticipation.
Ernie guided me off the dirt lane is flashlight dancing
among the trees. He told me to find a tree
and climb up, and I felt the thrill of excitement
as I hoisted that Baker's style tree stand up the trunk,
(04:41):
hugging that tree tightly as I climbed higher and higher
until I found my perch.
Speaker 1 (04:47):
Sounds effortless, but it wasn't. He had to shut your
brain off.
Speaker 2 (04:51):
What was happening to your chest as you did your
aerobics in that tree, climbing up higher and higher. And
it was normal back then for me to have bruised
and scraped up chest during hunting season. Once I got settled,
I pulled my remy till eight seventy up with me,
I loaded it and I sat in silence, watching the
(05:11):
world awaken around me. Time seemed to stretch as I
watched squirrels, and then a dough stepped into view. My
heart raised as I raised my shotgun, I squeezed the trigger,
and I watched her bolt a mere ten yards before
falling over. And at that moment I transformed from a
boy waiting for his chance to become a triumphant hunter
(05:34):
to finally claiming my first deer. Now, after the season closed,
Ernie and I began planning for next year. We returned
to the public land we had hunted the year before,
but look it eluded me. Weekend after weekend we hunted,
but deer number two was nowhere to be found. And
(05:56):
then Ernie mentioned that farm, the same place that had
brought me good fortune the year before, and with a
flicker of hope, I agreed. So once more we set
off of that familiar place, and I found myself climbing
the same tree one year later. Little did I know
that that day would test my very being and make
(06:17):
me question whether I ever.
Speaker 1 (06:19):
Wanted to hunt again. At daybreak, several doors wandered into
the clearing. I raised my age seventy.
Speaker 2 (06:26):
I aimed carefully and I shot, and the deer took off,
and I shot again, and to my surprise, one of
them fell. Now I already had taught me that you
need to wait awhile before you get down from your
tree to give the animal time to expire. But I
could see from my perch that that dough I shot
was trying but unable to get up and needed to
(06:48):
be finished off. I had two shells left, and I
made the choice to use my next last shell, and
I needed to do it quickly, and I climbed down
and I walked up and I did what had to
be done.
Speaker 1 (07:01):
But a heavy weight replaced the.
Speaker 2 (07:03):
Joy in my heart, as I did not want that
animal to suffer. We dragged that deer back to the truck,
and as we drove towards the store that was also
a check station, I continued to fight with queasiness and
feel good, and the unease settled deep within me. My
cousins debated whether to grab hot dogs and drinks, and
(07:24):
it was all I could do to shake the queasiness
that crept into my stomach image of that deer struggling
as I approached it that it haunted me, and I
knew what I had done was necessary, but bothered me.
The thrill of the hunt had soured, and I wondered
if I was cut out for this life.
Speaker 1 (07:46):
As we pulled into the.
Speaker 2 (07:47):
Parking lot, another truck roared in beside, his tires screeching
on the pavement. The driver swung open his door as
I stepped out on the pastor's side. To my shocking heart,
I saw his window explode in.
Speaker 1 (07:58):
A shower of glass.
Speaker 2 (08:00):
It rained like confetti all around our feet, and my
heart raised as I went on high alert. What I
saw next rashed it up the turmoil of my stomach considerably,
and blood ran down the man's face. And this wasn't
a sight encountered where I lived. But what happened next
was even more serric. He locked eyes with me, and
before I knew it, he grabbed me, wrapping his arms
(08:22):
around me and shaking me fiercely. His breath came in
ragged gasp as he uttered the words that would forever
be etched in my memory. Take me to Greenwood, Take
me to the hospital. That boy of mine unshot me
and my wife. In that instant, my sixteen year old
mine went into overdrive, spinning wildly on the gravel in
(08:44):
my brain, and I stood frozen and grappling with the
reality of what I was seeing and experiencing physically. And
then a bystander came rushing up, claiming he knew the
injured man and he would take him for help. Washed
over me as he let go and climbed into the
(09:04):
other man's vehicle. The grim reality of that morning waenthed
heavily on me, and as we pieced together the story,
we learned that the man's son had shot at his truck.
A tiny hole in the passenger side window told the tale,
and the bullet grazed his face. It was one lucky man,
but it seemed like I was one unlucky boy. The
(09:28):
beauty of that morning, with its crisp bear and the
promise of adventure, had been shattered in an instant. I
returned home that day with more than just a deer
in the back of the truck. I carried the weight
of a harsh lesson. Learned the thrill of the hunt
had been tainted by the harsh realities of life and death,
(09:51):
and I questioned whether I could ever enjoy it again.
And yet as time passed, I came to understand that
hunting is a part of life, life and a life
that is often unpredictable and filled with both joy, sorrow
and unpredictability. It's been forty four years since that day.
In every fall, I still find myself wondering the woods,
(10:14):
feeling the pull of nature and the thrill of the hunt.
Every now and then, my mind drifts back to that
faithful day when a young boy faced the harsh realities
of the world.
Speaker 1 (10:26):
And it was a.
Speaker 2 (10:27):
Hard lesson, but it helped the shape be into the
hunter and a man I am today. I've learned to
embrace the experience and a camaraderie with family and friends,
and respect for the life that sustains us all. And
according to Ken Nicely, that's just how that happened. Now
(10:51):
in this episode, I'm talking about our young ones, maturity
and moving about out of our direct control. And there's
so many things within Ken's story that it spoke Jimmy.
Speaker 1 (11:02):
His passion for.
Speaker 2 (11:03):
The outdoors, his respect for wildlife, his duty and responsibility
as an ethical hunter, and as a young man caught
in a situation beyond his control. All things that we
can influence as parents. If something like that can happen
in the middle of rural Pennsylvania, it can happen anywhere.
(11:24):
And while we can't and shouldn't live in fear, we
have to remain ever vigilant. That's a lesson for any age.
Speaker 1 (11:35):
Thanks for sharing.
Speaker 2 (11:36):
Ken May is a transition month, and where I live,
spring is beginning to give way to summer. Turkey hunting
activity starts tapering off Yearling bear cubs begin looking for
their own space, and high school seniors say goodbye to
(11:59):
one way of life.
Speaker 1 (12:00):
And they'll load to another. Twelve years is a long time,
thirteen if you count kindergarten, and how could you not.
For many of us, it was the end of a
different era as well as the beginning of a new one.
Work for many families these days is a husband and
wife partnership. The days of housewives and stay at home
(12:22):
moms are now the exception to the rule, when only
a generation or so ago it was the standard. Things change.
I get it.
Speaker 2 (12:29):
They have to change in order for us to progress,
and I'm not big on change, but don't misunderstand me.
I'm not advocating for moms, wives, husbands, or dads to
stay at home. I'm merely pointing out the fact that
things change. We lived in Star City, Arkansas for a
short period of time. This was before I started school
and rising. My mama didn't work then, and I remember
(12:53):
going outside to get milk and butter off the steps
early in the mornings with her that the milkman had
delivered way before daylight. I spent all day with her
every day and would until I started kindergarten.
Speaker 1 (13:07):
When I did, I didn't want to go.
Speaker 2 (13:10):
Everything I knew and was familiar with was there within
the confines of her companionship and our routine. That was
safety and security and all the things I associated with
living Unnaturally, one wouldn't want.
Speaker 1 (13:24):
To deviate from that routine.
Speaker 2 (13:26):
But the big yellow bus, in the case of all
younguns growing up in the country, when I did, waited
for us all.
Speaker 1 (13:34):
There was no escape.
Speaker 2 (13:36):
At some point during my sixty year of life, I
had to get on the biggest conveyance I'd ever seen
and trust the driver with my life and my schedule.
On top of all that, my Mama made me get
on it, and I felt a trade you have to
go to school, Brent, a phrase that would be repeated
to me by her for the next twelve years. Range
(14:00):
us back to what I started this oration out with
five paragraphs ago, the month of May. The past few
weeks on social media has been full of pictures of
a child's last time in whatever grade they're in, each
parent announcing the pride and the milestones that their kids
are carrying out. But it's the parents of the seniors
that get most of my attention. I'm glad my mama
(14:23):
didn't have Facebook back when I was in school. Her
post would have been something like, can't believe Brent got
out of the sixth grade without going to prison. Here's
to a great summer a Lenia judge and juvenile probation.
Not really, but it could have been. There's a lot
to unpack for those parents and students, regardless of if
(14:44):
it's the first time for each or just another in
a succession of graduating offspring. It's hard thing to do,
at least it was for me on both ends. Yet
it is the natural progression in life. For eighteen years,
we nurture and train, to teach discipline and provide the
foundation for our children. To function in society, to take
(15:07):
care of themselves, and hopefully become an asset to the
community of humans inhabiting this spending over confusion that we
all share. I think back to what it was like
when my oldest graduated that time. My youngest wasn't even
born yet. Now I cried like a baby. I ain't
vaccinated against squalling about it now just thinking about it.
(15:29):
And my oldest daughter, Aimy, graduated sixteen years ago. I've
never wanted any of them to leave, but I also
know that that's not how it works, or should work.
I was one of them at one time, and I
couldn't wait to get out on my own. The excitement
and the anxiousness of the future and seeing what was
(15:49):
just over the next hill is how we got to
this country in the beginning. It's also how the folks
that were already here called smallpox and ran out of Buffalo.
Good and bad in everything. Growing up and growing older,
it's no different. I worked in the woods for different
(16:11):
forestry concerns until I became old enough to work in
law enforcement, the career I chosen for myself in elementary school,
when I realized I couldn't grow up to be a
mountain man or a Hollywood stunt man. Now, thirty three
years of police work later, I'm not sure that stunt
man things didn't actually work out.
Speaker 1 (16:29):
It sure feels like it sometimes.
Speaker 2 (16:32):
My parents did all they could do to prepare me
for life outside the nest. My teachers and coaches, several
of whom I've mentioned on here, did the same, and
I didn't pay much attention to any of them. My
life had been a mission of fun to that point,
with nothing else really mattering, and tomorrow would always be tomorrow.
(16:54):
There's always time when you're young and getting older and
growing up with something you wished for but never realized.
It was like Christmas and getting the driver's license, or
going on a first date, hanging out uptown on the
weekends on Friday and Saturday night. It would take forever
for those times to get here, but when they finally did, man,
(17:14):
we're going to have fun forever and it will never end.
And then it gets here the keys to the family car,
a curfew and a little spending money. Two years from now,
I'll graduate high school and then it's worker college. Either way,
that's two years and forever away.
Speaker 1 (17:31):
But it's not in the blink of an eye, it's over.
Speaker 2 (17:37):
Even when I found myself filling out graduation announcements and
staring straight down the double barrel shotgun of reality, it
seemed like there was always time until there was I've
seen that look on some parents' faces over the past
few weeks, perients in my family and those of family
friends who were seemingly changing diapers one day and schedule
(18:00):
in college and trade school visits the next. Now I've
done it twice myself in two thousand and nine and
two thousand and sixteen. I have one more to go.
Six years from now. Six years fifty two thousand, five
hundred and sixty hours, two thousand, one hundred and ninety
(18:20):
one days. Now, that would be a long time to
be in jail, a long time to work at a
job that you didn't like, and an even longer time
to be sick. But the last six years of having
your child at home, Man, it burns by so quick
you can't even smell the smoke. At the end of
(18:48):
the next six years, my baby girl Bailey and my
oldest granddaughter Piper will graduate high school the same year,
and I may need medication. Six may be the most
important six years in preparation for the rest of their lives,
and I would argue that anyway, this was a critical
(19:09):
time for me and how I saw the world, or
in all actuality, I didn't see it. I relied on
manners and charming my teachers to get me through school
and studying, and half the effort I put towards football
and everything else. But school would have served me well
beyond furthering my education. I didn't know how to study.
(19:30):
I could halfway pay attention in class, do well enough
to pass, and keep my grades good enough to stay
in sports and keep my mother at bay. I saw
the same thing in my son, Hunter, who I never
saw crack a book all during high school, and he
graduated near the top of his class of nearly a
thousand students, only a few tenths of a point away
(19:55):
from perfection. But even he got slapped in the face
with a had radic reality when he got to college
by not being prepared on out of study. Alexis warned him,
college is going to be different, Bubba. He had to
scramble and teach himself how to do that all on
his own.
Speaker 1 (20:13):
But he did it. But it wasn't easy.
Speaker 2 (20:16):
The fact is that's all different, college work, making a
life for yourself, whatever it is they choose to do
at Our job from the moment we bring them home
from the hospital is to prepare them for the last
time they walk out the door. Is our possessions. It's
not our job to prepare the world for our children.
(20:37):
It's to prepare our children for the world. When the
opposite of that is the easiest, running interference, fighting their battles,
letting them win, and ignoring the negatives makes for a
happier child, but a sadder adult because reality is cruel
and it spares no one. Alexis and I won't Bailey
(20:58):
to succeed in everything she does, but we also know,
as hard as it is to watch, that she has
to fail and experience loss. The lesson, then, is how
she deals with it, and that's our job. Accepting loss
and using it to learn and get better is the
only way you learn and get better. That's how we
(21:21):
prepare her for the times when we're not there, and
the decisions that she makes, good or bad, and how
she reacts to the outcomes rest on how we've prepared
her for those moments. Being humble and triumph and gracious
and loss. Both of those are hard to do, and
I don't know which is harder. I'm no shining example
(21:43):
of either. What I am is barely intelligent enough to
realize how much better I would be as a man
of faith, husband, father, a brother, and a friend if
I was. And that's the best thing that we can
do for our children in the community in which they live,
is to teach them not to be like us, but
(22:04):
to be like what we wish we were and want
them to be. Last weekend, our little family spent Saturday
and Sunday eating barbecue and crawfish, celebrating two graduates from
our circle of friends who are just like our family.
Two high school seniors, Trevor and Savannah, sweethearts all through school,
(22:26):
both shining examples of what a young lady and a
young man would be if nineteen fifties Hollywood had.
Speaker 1 (22:33):
Written them as a TV show. Neither of them related
to me by blood.
Speaker 2 (22:39):
Our closest relative would probably be Adam and Eve, but
they are my family by choice, and in the last
couple of years, I've watched them and how they interact
with adults, their siblings, the friends of their siblings, and
they not only restored my hope for the future.
Speaker 1 (22:56):
When Bailey and.
Speaker 2 (22:57):
Piper reached that age, they help restore or my faith
that there have to be others just like the ones
the news outlets don't cover or talk about, the ones
you never hear from, because that's not news these days,
and the prime reason I don't watch it. I saw
all the news I needed this weekend, trying to stay
in the shade in front of a fan while we
(23:18):
laughed at pictures of our two seniors, baby pictures, and
some from six years ago, the age Bailey is now,
and six years from now, the majority of the people
I spent Saturday and Sunday with will gather again to
celebrate her and her friends. It is a day I
dread and look forward to, all at the same time.
(23:42):
Later this summer, Trevor and Savannah will move off to college,
and for a while we'll be sad they're gone, and
then it will be just a part of life as
we all settle into the new routine of their absence.
If we have done our jobs, we will have prepared
our children on how to survive without us. Unfortunately, no
(24:04):
one gives us lessons on how to survive without them.
We have to take comfort that we've done our best
that we can, and we pray for them and trust
that they listened, even if only remotely better than I did.
Speaker 1 (24:23):
Good luck to all of you. Whether it's college, trade schools, military,
or straight to work. We're counting on you and we
believe in.
Speaker 2 (24:33):
And thanks to all of you who have joined us
here on the Bear Grease channel each week. Clay and
I appreciate it, and we appreciate it very much.
Speaker 1 (24:42):
Until next week. This is Brent Reeves signing off. Y'all
be careful
Host
Clay Newcomb
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