Sport hunting or consumptive conservation is about time alone in the deer woods; an inheritance of sorts. It’s a quiet time to enjoy God’s creation, as well as reflecting on the past and hope for the future. Lastly, it’s about bringing home the bacon (meaning venison)! The one thing hunting should not be is a fashion statement regarding the power of pink!
Forty-three years ago my parents were eagerly awaiting birth of their first child – me! This was back in the day when expectant fathers stayed in the waiting room (watching football on TV), while the poor mother went through labor and delivery, aided by a nurse and doctor. The father was not even aware of the child’s gender until a nurse walked out with the baby wrapped in a blanket.
My father’s life revolved around hunting, fishing, trapping and church league softball at our church where he also served as a Deacon. Needless to say, he was eagerly awaiting a son to share in all his outdoor adventures. However, when the nurse handed him a pink blanket and 10 pounds, 12 ounces of pure baby girl, he was somewhat disappointed. My parents were so convinced I was going to be a boy days passed before they could decide on a name; seems the one name they had picked was for a bouncing baby boy. They still laugh about that surprise!
When I was a little girl, Mom tried and tried to dress me in frilly dresses and spent numerous hours curling my long, brown hair on pink curlers. Sometimes she even resorted to rag curls and pencils. Mom, along with my grandmothers, loved for me to sport those long ringlets on Sunday mornings. You should see the old pictures! Saturday nights, prior to Sunday morning and church were pure torture for me. I let them have their fun but always wanted to tag along with my Dad, where pink ruffles and ringlets were out of place.