‘Don’t Be a Horse’s Ass’ and Other Words of Wisdom from Our Dads

Now, I don’t envy anyone attempting to teach a preteen girl how to cast a fly rod. Somehow, my dad managed to pull it off and instill a lifelong love of angling in me. He would hammer (what I now realize are common) fly-fishing mantras into my head: 10 and 2, don’t break your wrist, keep your rod tip down, foam is home, and recast, recast, recast.

While these might be standard sayings to hear from a fishing guide, they’ve stuck with me as sound advice over the years. Something about hearing it over and over and over again from your dad really embeds it in your brain, I suppose.

I still rely on these tidbits of knowledge when I’m struggling to catch a fish or cast in the wind; that’s when the mantras he’s grumbled at me all these years come up. Give your backcast more time. Let the fish eat it. Your line’s dragging, recast.

I’m grateful for the time we’ve spent on the water together and for the phrases that help me focus when fishing. I look forward to many more years of tight lines and muttered mantras with my old man.

Not yet casting a fly rod, but excited to be fishing with my pa.

A lot of us have our dads to thank for taking us out for our first hunting, fishing, or camping adventures. So for this Father’s Day, we’d like to celebrate some of the best outdoor and life lessons we’ve learned from our fathers.

My old man had three obscure terms of insult that he’d apply to other men that he didn’t like. Each term that he used seemed to have its own distinct meaning. One of the terms was Italian, or at least he said it was, but I’ve checked with Italians, and they don’t recognize it.

It was something like “minguela morta,” though I’ve never seen it spelled out. It meant, basically, that a certain important part of that man’s anatomy was not operational. My dad would use it to describe someone who was timid or passive or boring. If he called a man a “yabatz,” he was saying that the guy was generally just a goofball or a person not worth taking seriously.

The worst of his terms, the one you’d least want to be, was “a horse’s ass.” He’d almost spit this term through his teeth, as though it was literally painful to say it. Being a horse’s ass meant you were an idiot and couldn’t do anything right and would never amount to much of anything. If I learned anything from my old man, I suppose it’s that you really don’t want to be a horse’s ass. I always try to keep that in mind, especially on Father’s Day.

My dad taught me so much that it’s hard to narrow it down. One of the first things that he taught me early as a little kid was how to find squirrels in a tree. When he saw I was having trouble finding them, he told me to stop looking for the squirrel and start looking for his ear.

That little triangle shape will stand out against the sky even if they’re laying flat and still. Once you find his ear, the rest of him will be easy to see. It worked. I still do that to this day and taught my kids the same thing.

Brent with a photo of his dad.

My grandfather and father used to say, “Better be quiet and let people think you’re stupid than open your mouth and remove all doubt.” As a podcaster, I’m pretty sure I’m not heeding their advice.

My dad’s greatest skills as an outdoorsman is being a pro at DIY. As a kid, I got to watch him build his own treestands, chop his own wood, fabricate his own livewell, make his own sausage, fix his own boat motor, load his own ammo. It was a valuable thing to witness. I hope I have 20% of that craftiness someday.

Spencer is the little feller on the left.

My dad would reference this phrase, after my grandfather coined it, anytime my brothers or I misplaced his tools, broke a window, or just royally screwed up in general.

My grandfather was an absolute turkey killer. He rarely wore a mask or toted more than one or two calls in his pockets. Nearly all his khakis had red blood stains on the back pocket from where turkey heads slapped against them on their ride out of the woods.

In middle school, I saved up to buy fancy Ol’ Tom turkey vest. My dad drove me to my grandparents to drop me off for the week of spring break so I could turkey hunt, and I was mighty proud to show my grandfather my new vest.

I was already wearing that vest when I walked in my grandparents house. I spun around, unzipping pockets that had no real use and flapping that magnetic seat up and down like a traveling turkey vest salesman. Without looking up from whatever basketball game was on TV, my grandfather cooly said, “That’s about as useful as the British pissing in the wind.”

To this day, I’m not sure what he meant. But I think I got the point.

Adam’s dad with a nice buck.

My dad’s advice was simple: “Shut up, don’t move around, and be quiet!”

It remains great advice to this day that I continually share with my own sons.