At Thanksgiving time, I am reminded I owe a big thanks to my best outdoor teacher — my red-haired father.

Dad was a musician and entertainer, starting in jazz-era Detroit in the ’20s and playing with other young musicians just entering the big band business—people like Jimmy and Tommy Dorsey, Bix Beiderbecke, Pee Wee Hunt, and Russ Morgan— players who all went on to national fame in the big band days.

I spent the first 10 years of my life as a ‘band brat’ of the Ted Weems Orchestra. (The band’s “boy singer” was Perry Como). Dad, already noted for his comedic skills, later, joined Spike Jones’ City Slickers. Still later, he led his own band on recordings for Capitol Records as ‘Red’ Ingle and the Natural 7, including hit records of “Tim-tay-shun” (with Jo Stafford), and “Cigareets, Whusky, and Wild Wild Wimmen.”

What, you may wonder, has this to do with an outdoor education? Because when he wasn’t playing saxophone or doing some comedic “schtick,” dad was often off hunting or fishing. He found in me a willing companion, while I gained a gentle teacher.

That kind of mentoring is not found everywhere today, but a recent change in Michigan’s hunting laws may change that.

Those changes now make it possible for youths to be introduced to the field sports at an earlier age than before. It’s called a “mentoring” approach, with adults taking time to start young hunters off safely at an earlier age. This caring adult monitoring allows youngsters to develop appreciation for our hunting tradition before they get too old, find more interest in TV and video games, and are lost to the ranks of hunters.

As my mentor and teacher, my dad’s best lessons were of respect for the game we stalked, the fish we cast for, and the natural world we all share. His frequent advice stressed basic outdoor courtesy to others. “Never crowd another man’s fishing spot—walk around past him and let him enjoy it,” and, “Don’t keep more fish than you can eat no matter the limit, and never waste game!” Firearm safety was foremost: “Every gun you pick up is loaded… EVERY gun, EVERY time, without fail.” Such basic-but-important lessons were passed from father to son as much as companion to companion.

Dad was a skilled trap and skeet shooter—in fact, winning the prestigious McCormack Skeet Trophy at Chicago’s Lincoln Park Gun Club in the ’30s. From him I learned the basics of shooting clay targets, and later live game, with an old Fox double gun when hunting on Clinton County family farms. In time, he made a pretty good rifle marksman of me. His was responsible mentoring at the highest ethical level.

Fishing brought some of my teacher’s best lessons. Like most kids, I started with a simple bamboo pole, cotton line, bobber, and a snelled hook baited with garden worms. Panfish and bullheads made up my usual catch.

Then dad surprised me on my eighth birthday with a real split cane bamboo flyrod like his. I remember it clearly, an 8-footer with three tips. (In the hands of a pint-sized novice fly caster, spare tips were necessities.) I moved up to Montague, Heddon, and, as a teen, to a classic Payne cane rod. (I wish it had survived.) Armed with flyrod in hand, I soon discovered trout.

Dad’s casting lessons got me to where most of my casts were on target, leaving fewer leaders and flies festooning streamside shrubbery. A patient teacher? Oh, yeah!

Without the hunting law changes made this year, more youths might not have opportunities to experience these hunting traditions we older sportsmen learned from our fathers, grandfathers, older brothers, or uncles. These changes allow small game and deer hunting opportunities at an earlier age (see the new “2006 Michigan Hunting and Trapping Guide”).

This opportunity requires adults to be involved in a mentoring way—the best way to teach hunting and the responsibilities that go with it.

This Thanksgiving, I will especially remember that red-headed mentor I called dad. Had he lived until now, he would have been 100 years old this month. But his mentoring and memories remain with me every time I take to field or stream.

That’s an outdoor education to be thankful for.