I grew up around firearms. Now my son wants to hunt, and I’m reluctant

This First Person column is the experience of Vladimir Batinić, who lives in Calgary. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

“Tata, can we go hunting?”

“Um, no. Go with your uncle. I really don’t enjoy it much anymore.”

A few days later, my son asked again.

“Tata, have you thought about hunting?”

“Yes, and how much happier I am since I stopped going.”

A few days later on a hike with friends in the Rockies, it hit me. My 13-year-old son was at home watching hunting videos and daydreaming about hunting while I was spending the day in nature and enjoying every minute of it. I preach inclusion but it seems I’m not ready to be a supportive parent helping my son pursue his passion because his passion is not quite aligned with my personal values and interests.

There’s judgment when it comes to hunting. People stare. One time when I walked into a Starbucks in Calgary wearing full camo, I could feel the looks. The same people would probably admire The Eagle Huntress on Amazon Prime Video and might even consider it a valuable developmental milestone for a teen to undertake a successful hunt — as long as it takes place far away, like Mongolia.

My relationship with firearms and hunting is complicated. Growing up in Bosnia and Herzegovina during the war in the 1990s, there were a lot of guns around, big and small. Wars are horrible but putting on a uniform and taking up arms to defend your family and country is, well, a feeling like no other, and seems easier to justify. Luckily I was too young for service but not so young that I wasn’t infatuated and consumed by all things military. I was 13 when a hand grenade detonator (they were all around the country during the war) blew up in my hand and tore one of my fingers off in a nasty accident. There’s nothing like the smell of your own burning flesh to make you pause and reconsider things.

I eventually left all that behind, moved to Canada and got married. My father-in-law, it turned out, had a passion for hunting. I was excited to go and we had some great moments together. But his hunting style was driving around, smoking and talking. I envisioned things differently: hiking for hours, watching glorious sunrises and sunsets, savouring fresh air and tasty food while looking for game. Not driving and smoking. He moved away. I was relieved.

Then my wife met a lady on the bus. They got talking. Turns out her husband is a hunter. My wife seized the opportunity and put us in touch.

“You did what?”

“Sorry, I thought you would love it,” she said.

“OK, next time I meet a guy, I’ll set you up for some crocheting with his wife.”

“Oh, you have a point there. Sorry,” she said.

More women are trying their hands at hunting in Alberta

While hunting has been in decline across Canada, numbers in Alberta are seemingly on the rise. Fatima Dhooma is one of the many, if unlikely, people in Alberta who have turned to hunting in recent years as a means of food provision.

We met anyway and went target shooting and hunting together. I had fun but I was still cautious about having firearms around our home — even toy guns. When our son was around four, I got upset with my mother-in-law when she bought him a Nerf toy gun. I kept it away from him for two years. But despite my efforts to keep him away from that world, he would ask to go hunting and shooting. So, eventually, I gave him the Nerf gun. I took him and his sister to paintball. Later, I took him to a hunting training camp.

When our kids turned 10 and we felt they were old enough to come along, my hunting friend and I brought them with us. We taught them to respect nature and handle firearms safely.

But somewhere along the way, my interests changed, or maybe I no longer wanted to prowl in the cold for an animal to kill. I started practising yoga. These days, when I’m at a restaurant, I usually order a vegetarian meal. I enjoy meat, but I could easily go on without it. I love and respect animals and have no illusions about where meat comes from.

Then my brother-in-law decided to get back into hunting and wanted my son to go along. Yes! This was my offramp — finally! I took it and waved at them as they drove off. They brought a few delicious grouse back.

But when his uncle’s truck broke down, I also broke down in my resolve to avoid hunting in the face of my son’s persistent pleading.

“Alright, I’ll take you,” I told my son. “But I’m not hunting, I’m hiking. I’m not wearing camo, I’m not carrying a rifle. I’ll do the driving, look for game with my binoculars and in the unlikely event that you actually get something, I’ll help you take care of everything.”

My son had been “hunting” for a few years but never shot anything successfully himself. It was just a lot of driving, walking and missed shots. It was getting hard for both of us to stay positive always coming back home empty-handed. Our conversations would drift into confrontations over tactics and strategy. I wanted to walk, he wanted to drive. I wanted to sit and appreciate nature when he wanted to walk. I tried teaching him what it means to compromise. He wasn’t having any of it. I would get upset and threaten not to take him again.

During one of these arguments on a sunny winter day, suddenly he spotted a deer. I parked the car and he jumped out to chase it. The deer ran off, and we walked down the road for a few minutes without seeing it. My son wanted to turn back. But I said sometimes you have to pause and blend into the surroundings to make wildlife come to you. Eventually, two doe came out of the woods. He took the shot — and missed. We went in after the deer that had bounded away. We walked through a deforested area littered with tree stumps and disturbed ground into what seemed like the Garden of Eden. A beautiful creek was running through patches of green moss, the light came through the trees. There was no wind; just the sound of bubbling water. This is what being in nature is all about for me. The real catch. Soul recharging. We took a few photos and walked back to the car.

When I’m hunting, I think I see deer everywhere. Then when I look through my binoculars, I often realize it’s just another tree stump or a rock. But this time, it really did look like antlers, so I took a closer look.

“Get down! It’s a deer. Look at it,” I told my son. “Just enjoy it. It’s too far to shoot.”

But my son was determined. He took a position on a nearby pile of wood. I heard him taking deep breaths and then shoot. The deer disappeared from my view, but my son was sure he hit it. We searched for 10 minutes before I finally spotted it. A beautiful white-tailed deer resting on a patch of snow.

I whistled, and my son came over. He was shaking. He was beaming with pride. I was, too. He did it. This took effort. This isn’t the same as watching YouTube or playing a hunting game online. We hugged.

I love this boy. He’s going to be OK — even if he has a reluctant hunter for a dad.

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