Ah, hunting with grandpa. Those are fond memories. They aren’t mine, of course. But they’re fond.

I want my kid to experience the magic of the great outdoors. I want him to be attuned to his place in the natural world. I want him to understand the simultaneous thrill and sorrow a hunter feels when he harvests a magnificent buck.

I want him to learn the rewards of patience, of stillness, of discipline and woodcraft. I want him to see the other-worldly beauty of a sunrise on a frost-covered clearing. I want him to hear all the sounds of the northwoods—the chattering of the squirrels, the music of the Chickadees, the groaning of maple trunks swaying in the breeze.

Then again, I also want to sleep past 4AM. Oh, and it’d be OK with me if I never got frostbite again, ever. Do you realize how cold it gets outside in November? Ridiculous. And for what? Venison? That I have to drag out of the woods and gut and butcher myself? Shoot, there’s pizza places that will bring hot food right to my door in under thirty minutes, and I don’t even have to put shoes on.

Junior’s not cut out for that whole macho butch scene anyway, let’s be honest. His inhaler would probably spook the deer. And he has his old man’s decidedly un-rugged physique. Look at him. He’s built like a computer science major. So maybe an annual father-son hunting trip isn’t for us. Maybe we can just hang out in the basement and play Big Buck Hunter Pro on the Wii instead.

And by “we,” I mean “I.” Because this game is way too fun to give him a turn.

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