A great ‘problem’ for a dad to have

Buying Christmas presents for the family has gotten a little easier over the past year or two — at least for part of the family.

I pretty much leave the daughters’ presents to the wise blue eyes of my wife, who apparently knows better than I do what young ladies in their early 20s need or desire, other than a charge card with the writing ready to be worn away.

My 19-year-old son was bitten by the hunting and fishing bug a while back, but it didn’t get to be a viral-type infection until last year. That has made filling his stocking a lot easier, even if my wife continues to try and wrap up stuff that isn’t related to hunting ducks or deer, or catching fish of various species.

I took care of most of his birthday last month with a pair of new hunting boats, a belt from Sewee Outpost that was complete with waterfowl hunting scenes, and money for half of his new hunting coat. I’m hoping that my role as the grumpy old man in the family will allow me to do all of the Christmas shopping for him, but I still have this feeling no matter what I spend on him, my wife will show up with some some pin-striped shirt, khaki pants or dress socks, not understanding that camouflage rules.

We went duck hunting last year on our Christmas vacation to North Carolina’s Outer Banks, and before he even climbed out of the blind, I knew I was in trouble. He had that look in his eyes. Now, he’s not sure he’s in love with his neoprene waders, and he’s wondering how he can sneak a Labrador retriever home on his next break from college. He’s calling me between classes, wanting to know what I think about steel shot vs. hevi shot, and he informed me the other day not to buy a certain box of non-toxic shot for a December hunt we have planned because his research indicated that it might be tough on shotgun barrels. I feel certain he has the Bass Pro Shops catalog memorized, but if he asks for mallard decoys for Christmas, my wife is liable to give me this look that indicates my days are numbered.

I’m as happy as anybody that he seems to be interested in all the correct things: college football, turkey calls and deer scents. He hasn’t asked for a video game in years, and I haven’t had to give up the big-screen TV for Guitar Hero since he was in the 11th grade.

However, not all is rosy. Last summer, he worked on a landscaping crew with a handful of guys who spent two or three nights a week making a regular circuit of farm ponds. One day when I reached into my tackle box for a pearl-colored Senko, there were none to be found, and no junebug worms either, and the box where I keep all my worm hooks appeared to be a lot lighter. Later, I learned that one of my expensive Sebile swim baits is now hanging from a limb in a lakeside willow tree.

But back to Christmas. I’ve got my eye on a fly reel for him; the old one he “inherited” from me sort of fell apart when we met one day in September to wade a river near his college for smallmouth bass. He’ll need an assortment of new popping bugs, since the smallmouths ate the paint off all the ones I was using. He’s set for guns for a while, and I’m thinking about trading him a Loc-On stand for his portable ladder stand, which is a lot easier on future senior citizens. He already has a better turkey-hunting vest and a more-expensive box call than I do. I’m sure I’ll figure out something else before Santa arrives.

One thing’s for sure. It’s great to have this kind of problem.