Rite of Passage...what was yours?

batosai117

batosai117

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Growing up my dad was always working out of town, state, and country thus my outdoor and "manly" teachings came primarily from the other dads at Boy Scouts. My love for fishing and ability to be Mr. Fixit came from my dad and necessity when it was just my mom and I growing up. My first real hunting trip was with my best friend and his family and our trophy game was hog. After my first hog kill the blood from the heart was smeared all over my face and a big cheer and howl came from all of the guys present at the hunting trip. Needless to say it was awesome.

Scouts had taught me leadership skills, outdoor skills, introduced me to guns (rifle), helped my love of bows and knives grow, and I got to go camping on a regular basis.

My own dad taught me life skills which I still use everyday maintaining my own home and I wish I had spent more time watching him fix cars 'cause that would be a big help now :o

My hunting trips with my friends helped re-enforce that brotherhood feeling and a closeness with nature (not just the shooting at nature part).

All in all these all contributed to a "coming of age" or a "rite of passage" into manhood for me. I would like to start some kind of tradition with my son (he's 1 right now) that he can pass down and remember and use forever and give him that feeling of accomplishment and "right of passage" much like going on that first hunt and getting that first kill.

So, I was wanting to know if any of you had/have a tradition or rite of passage in your families and if so what is it? I would like to get some ideas for my own son just to keep in the back of my mind for when that time comes.

Thanks for viewing, J.
 
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Sure, first time having the keys of the car tossed to me, first time taking a pistol camping without supervision, first time taking the BB gun out in the woods, first time solo on the 4-wheeler, first time solo on the snowmachine, enlisting, having a baby, having a wife.

Mostly mile markers of increased responsibility.

Some are little more than hazing, and some are ancient.

Seems more like a community post, there was no ritual or anything for walking out into the woods, just a lot of preparation over the years.
 
As some have already mentioned, for me there were several rites of passage. Earliest I remember was fishing and hunting trips with my father and grandfather where I soaked up tips and wisdom. An early milestone I remember was when on my eighth Christmas, I unwrapped a 20 guage shotgun, two boxes of shells and a knife. From then on I was allowed to hunt whenever I wanted and go as far as my legs could carry me. I guess you could call that gaining dirt time. I learned a lot by trial and error. Boy Scouts was sort of anticlimactic. They taught us a lot of stuff I already knew such as firestarting and cooking over a campfire. And a few things I knew weren't a good idea, like trenching around a tent and the archaic snakebite treatment using slashes and tournequets.
 
Nothing to do with family, except perhaps indirectly. My dad who lived in Israel for a long time and served in the Paratroops always talked about The Land. So when I was 17 I went to a kibutz, for about half a year. First time away from home for so long.
I was an ulpani, which means you're not just a volunteer, you get Hebrew courses and you're prepped to perhaps immigrate (to 'make the ascent' ;))
You also get to be close to the kibutzniks, who at the time were the backbone of the nation. Almost every male you meet is elite of some form, F-15 pilots, crack infantry troops (and their recon units), paratroops (and their recon units) and even the most elite of them all. They taught me to shoot, some Krav Maga before I or anyone knew what it was and lots of other cool sh1t. I was a quiet thoughtful kid on the outside, never talked much but eager to be around these bigger than life heroes, who at the same time were fathers and uncles, men working in the fields, driving tractors, laying irrigation lines, eating in dining halls with their parents and grandparents, whom they always respected.

They made heroes three dimensional for me. And they didn't teach me, they SHOWED me what being a man means.

My rite of passage was being accepted by these men and their families as one of their own, never demanding anything but showing by example what is expected and even required.
I went back two more times, after I had served in Holland. Kibutz life was still thriving then, and I brought my own experiences, but life in Israel makes that in Holland appear comatose. A combined total of around 18 months shaped my life more than 2 decades in Holland ever did.
 
First day of Buck season in PA and walking to my stand alone in the morning darkness. My father/uncles/grandfather trusted me with a loaded weapon all day without supervision. I had been driving tractors and trucks around the farm since I can remember so driving was no big deal, but being one of the men who went out for venison that day.... I'll never forget that morning.
 
I joined the army at 18; my father was dead set against it. I earned my air mobile patch 3 years in, getting past selection was one of the hardest things I have ever accomplished. My father found out about it and a few months later he sent me a letter and a San Judas pendent.

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My father is not a very religious man, and the fact that he sent me that pendent amazes me to this day. I keep it in a shadow box with my black beret and unit patch.

A small show of support is all I needed from him. I will never forget it.
 
I gave my father's eulogy when I was 18, followed by my mother's not even two years later. These two events were major rites of passage for me, for obvious reasons.

I didn't quite feel like a man after the first - I was barely out of high school, and hadn't even enjoyed a woman yet - but watching my father die, and then only a few days later standing up and detailing his life in front of everybody certainly opened my eyes up to what "manhood" really meant. I would grow up quite a bit after that event.

With my mom, that was it. I was 20 and on my own now; I had to be a man. Speaking at the funeral and realizing this in front of all my friends and family was when it happened. I didn't write anything that day, or devote much time thinking about what I would say. I just got up in front of the crowd, stood in front of my mother's casket, and began speaking as strongly and as honestly as I could. When I was done, I sat down and finally let myself cry. That's when I wasn't a boy anymore.

Other events - first time hunting, first time driving, first job, first lay, moving out, whatever - they're all certainly milestones, but not rites of passage for me. None of them changed me much. Not like leading the pallbearers for both my parents, one right after the other. That changes you.
 
I don't know what it was or that there was really anykind of "rite" of passage.
I've been doing something in the hills and woods since I was five (used to tag along fox hunting with the old man and my uncle). Drove my drunk uncle home at around 10. Have owned guns and knives since I was five (first gun was a single shot 12 gauge that kicked like a Sherman tank). Never was a scout. Was hunting by myself by the time I was 13. Mom and dad divorced when I was 12, helped my mom raise my baby sister from day 1. Have had jobs since I was 14 years old, worked EVERY day since I was 19. Lost my virginity at 16 or 17 (I can't remember). Helped pay my own car insurance and such. Have been fighting a horseshoe battle with life from the day I drew my first breath.

I guess it's like that guy said in "The Crow": Childhood's over the minute you know you're going to die.
 
U.S Army Boot Camp/Basic Training! Its a little different now than it was in 1970.--KV
 
Wow, I just skimmed through the first post, and then went on to answer. I then thought about it, and was like "probably my first hog kill". And I went back to read the first post in its whole, and you had Hog kill in yours! I think I was 13, I had a .223 with me out in the swamps of SC and scared up a huge Sow. She had a bunch of babies, and first stared me down long enough for me to shoulder the .223, and she charged. I hit her 4 times, and finally a head shot when she hit the ground. It was either that or an 18 day backpacking trip when I was 16. I don't think either of those count as a tradition, though when my father gave me my first .22, a hand me down that has been in the family for four generations, I felt a large deal of responsibility.
 
I've got a few, but I can't decide which one is the true rite of passage???
1. The night my father left me in the woods to fend for myself when I was 11.
2. Joining the British Army as a Junior Leader, when I was 15 years & 10 months old.
3. Soloing Mt Blanc when I was 18.

Hmmm. It was probably them all, as each one of them scared me, but at the same time they also helped me.
 
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Earliest rites: as a scout, 50 miler in the Grand Canyon, and another at Philmont Scout Ranch NM. True adventures, both.
 
Liberando said:
Earliest rites: as a scout, 50 miler in the Grand Canyon, and another at Philmont Scout Ranch NM. True adventures, both.
Click to expand...

Hey, I went to Philmont twice, two years in a row in high school. The first time as a Boy Scout and the second with my Venture crew. Earned my Ranger Award/medal with the Venture crew for that trip. First trip we went up a peak that starts with a "P" at around 11,000 ft and the tooth of time, second trip we climbed Baldy - 12,000+ ft. Best times there as I recall :thumbup: I always lucked out because my birthday is in the summer so I turned 16 and 17 on each trip and at the staff camps I got to eat like a king (normal food - burgers n stuff :D). The guys hated me for that, but I shared :)
 
I have had several land marks in my life. Some that may count as a rite os passage i guess would be;
When I tested for my black belt
The first time I shot at some one, didnt hit'em, but the intent was there
When I was two days hike from the car and it started raining and storming. The only way out was to keep walking. It sucked realy bad, but taught me that excuses and feeling sorry for yourself wont get you out of a jam.
 
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