First Deer Sends Message: Keep Hunting Fun!

The excitement of killing your first deer is something a hunter never forgets. However, sitting beside your child when they take their first deer is a memory carved even deeper. It’s not just about the shot or the animal. It’s about the moment, the connection, and the tradition being passed on right before your eyes.

I still remember it like it was yesterday—sitting in an old tripod stand on a field we call “Bypass,” with my dad standing quietly on the ladder behind me. We sat in silence, listening to a woodpecker hammer away at a distant tree, when a doe stepped into view. I can still hear my dad’s voice, calm and steady: “Get on her… take your time… pull the trigger slowly—let it surprise you.” That feeling is impossible to describe on a piece of paper.

Almost 25 years later, I found myself on the other side of that moment with my son, Brooks.

Earlier that day, we’d been shooting across our dam with my brother, his son and our buddy Zach. Later that afternoon, we headed to a familiar field that we call “#4.” Brooks is only seven years old but had already proven himself over the last couple of seasons. He could sit still, stay focused and be quiet for an entire hunt. Last season he even sat next to me in a small quad pod with six deer within 50 yards as I took a doe with my bow.

The blind in #4 sits on the edge of a large field, split by a thick, mature hedgerow. It’s been a field where I’ve had some of my best memories in the woods, and I knew it was the best place to give Brooks a real chance.

As the sun dipped lower, I started to feel the pressure of wanting him to have a successful hunt. I wanted him to have that moment. A group of does appeared on the far left side, about 150 yards out. I motioned for Brooks to climb out of his chair and into my lap. One old, mature doe kept glancing in our direction while the younger ones fed, oblivious. They worked their way toward us until they were about 75 yards off to our left.

I handed Brooks the .350 Legend and whispered for him to be patient. Another group of does joined them, and I could feel my nerves spike. More eyes meant less time and greater odds of being seen. The mature doe, knowing something was not right, crossed in front of us at 45 yards.

“Get your scope on her,” I told him.

He did so, without hesitation. As she stopped to get one last bite of wheat at 65 yards, I said quietly, “Take your time. Shoot when you’re ready.”

The rifle went off. I saw it instantly—he had made a perfect shot. She jumped with the classic rifle kick and ran into the woods beside us. Brooks turned to me, eyes wide, already celebrating asking, “Did I get her?”

I told him I was pretty sure he made a good shot, but we wouldn’t know until we went to look.

While we celebrated, I glanced out the left window and saw a mature, old buck just 10 yards from our blind. He hadn’t even noticed us. I pulled Brooks into my lap again as the buck moved to the far side of the field, only giving us a quartering-away shot. I decided to tell Brooks we needed to pass him up. I knew we were in the middle of creating one of Brooks best moments of life, and I didn’t want to cloud it with a potential miss.

We sat and watched the buck disappear into the woods and started celebrating again. Brooks instantly wanted to call my parents, “Sissy and Chief.” After a short but loud and excited FaceTime call, it was time to get down.

I started filming on my iPhone as we climbed down and walked to the shot site. No blood at first. I felt that sick drop in my stomach we all know and despise. I’d taught him to pay attention to where the deer stood, and now I was fumbling my own advice. But then Brooks spotted it—a leaf with blood. Then another. And then a big splash. The sick drop in my stomach disappeared, and I knew we had a good night ahead of us.

We waited for my brother, his son and Zach to join us. My brother has eyes like a hawk—he can spot a pinprick of blood from a mile away—so I let him take the lead while I filmed. As we worked our way through the woods, I caught the first glimpse of her with my headlamp but stayed quiet. I wanted Brooks to find her himself.

Then I heard him shout: “OH I SEE HER! I SEE HER! SHE’S UP THERE!”

Brooks Kennedy, 7, of Rutledge, with his first deer taken while hunting with his dad in Morgan County on Nov. 23, 2024.

The excitement in his voice is something that I can only show you in a video, which happens to be at GON.com. There truly aren’t words to describe it. His first deer. His first perfect heart shot. His first real step forward into the world of hunting. I’ll never be able to truly explain to him how proud or impressed with him I was that night.

We cleaned her together. I wiped a little blood on his face like my dad once did to me. We loaded her into my old truck and took a ton of pictures. Then we cranked up the radio and made that familiar, 5-mile drive to Newborn Taxidermy. I don’t think I stopped smiling once. I have made that drive a hundred times, but it was back to square one that night.

Moments like these remind you what it’s really all about. I’d rather take my kids hunting for six straight seasons and never pull the trigger than fill my wall with trophies that collect dust. Brooks didn’t care about age or antler size. He was just proud to be out there with his family and friends.

I believe we have found a way in recent years to overcomplicate and remove the “fun” out of deer hunting. The experience and the company we keep now are outweighed by trophy focus and stress. Our generation has lost its way and is hyper focused on results and not milking the experience. I encourage us all for the 2025-2026 season to stop listening to what the culture is saying is fun about hunting, and focus on what you actually enjoy doing. Remember what it was that made you fall in love with the outdoors, and find that feeling again. Make this season the most “fun” deer season you have ever had. I’m begging you all to take your kids hunting as much as you can. Not just for the kill—but for the legacy, the lessons and the stories that will echo long after the season ends.

In the powerful words of O’Neill Williams: “If you’re too busy to take a child hunting or fishing, you’re just too busy.”