Start a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.
—PROVERBS 22:6
There are some things in life over which you have absolutely no control. The first such event is your birth. My dad was not present when I was born. He was fishing when my mom went into labor, and she sent Uncle Si to try to persuade Phil to come witness the momentous occasion. His reply was, “What do you want me to do about it?” I guess technically his argument was based on some form of logic. Eventually, he came around and was present when my youngest brother, Jep, was born. Phil described it as a “life-changing event,” even though he said at the time that after viewing the birth he believed his future sex life with my mom was officially over. Even though my dad and I have a lot in common, especially when it comes to hunting and fishing, I decided that watching each of my own kids being born was something I wasn’t going to miss.
I was at the hospital when my older son, Reed, was born on May 15, 1995. As for my younger son, Cole, the circumstances of his birth were similar to what I’d experienced with my dad, but we’ll get to that story in a minute. Missy and I decided before our wedding that we weren’t going to have any children until after five years of marriage. When you have kids, everything changes, and we wanted to enjoy being together while we were young and lay a spiritual foundation for our family before we had any kids.
The birth of Reed was so excruciating and painful that I wasn’t sure Missy would ever want to have another child. She was about ten days past her due date and looked like she was ready to pop at any minute. Missy’s doctor asked her to come to the hospital on a Monday morning. The doctor induced her that morning and then didn’t show up again until about three thirty P.M. Nothing major was happening yet, so the doctor broke Missy’s water and left.
Missy remembers the details of Reed’s birth better than I do.
Missy: Soon after the doctor broke my water, I started to feel a more consistent pain, but I did breathing exercises and was able to handle it. However, just a few minutes later, my contractions became much harder, my breathing became very labored, and my stomach started convulsing to where I wasn’t able to stay in control. I urged Jase to get the nurse to order the epidural for the pain, which he gladly did. She called the doctor and returned to the room, rolling her eyes at me, which validated my feeling like a wimp. She reported that the doctor said if I was dilated close to four centimeters, I could get the epidural. While the nurse proceeded to check me, I started to pray. I had never prayed so hard for a number in all my life! But then the nurse gasped out loud.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You’re at nine centimeters!” the nurse said.
“What does that mean?”
“That means you’re going to have to start pushing,” the nurse said. “It’s too late for an epidural.”
Missy started crying and told the nurse she’d paid for the epidural and wanted it right then. Unfortunately, it was too late. Reed was positioned faceup in the womb, instead of facedown, and Missy had to push for two hours without any medicine. Let me tell you one thing: my respect for women grew exponentially that day. Like my dad says, if men were left to do the childbearing, there would be a much smaller population on earth. We’d do it once and that’s it! After a couple of hours, the doctors finally gave Missy a local anesthetic and used forceps to pull Reed out. The whole ordeal lasted fourteen grueling hours. When Reed was born, his head was cone shaped because of the forceps. I thought, Well, he’s going to be a little lopsided, but we’ll love him anyway. I didn’t know his head would eventually return to a normal shape.
Almost two years later, Missy became pregnant with Cole. Because he was breech, a C-section was scheduled for December 11, 1997, which was right in the middle of the duck season split. That’s typically a two-week gap between Thanksgiving and Christmas Day when we can’t hunt ducks in Louisiana. I told her it wasn’t a great idea to have his birthday then because the first couple of weeks in December are usually right in the middle of the split. During the split, we annually hit the road to hunt ducks in Arkansas, Idaho, Kansas, or somewhere else. It’s one of the reasons Cole’s birthday is in such a bad spot. I’m usually out of town on his birthday, so we have his party before I leave or after I get back. I told him at an early age, “Sorry, buddy, you came out at a difficult time.” But the good news is I usually take him on a hunting trip for his birthday, now that he’s older.
Fortunately, the split during the 1997 duck-hunting season occurred a couple of weeks later than it usually does. The day Cole was born, on December 4, 1997, I went duck-hunting with my dad and brothers. During this particular duck season, my dad had noticed an overpopulation of raccoons on his property. I started running traps to manage the problem and make a little extra money. I was getting up at two thirty A.M. to run my traps, and I was catching raccoons, nutria rats, and even a few otters. After checking my traps, I would clean the animals in between shooting volleys in the duck blind. I’d sell both the fur and meat to various customers—nothing went to waste. About ten o’clock that morning, we saw a boat coming toward us. We didn’t recognize the boat, so everybody assumed it was a game warden. It was actually a friend of mine, Chad, whom my mom had called to fetch me from the blind. I was in the middle of cleaning a raccoon and had about two-thirds of its hide off. Both of my hands were covered in blood. Hey, if killing raccoons was illegal—and it isn’t—I would have been caught in the act! Chad stopped about a hundred yards from us.
“Hey, Jase, your mom called and your wife is having the baby,” he said.
My dad interjected, “What do you want us to do about it? You’re scaring off the ducks!”
I looked at the raccoon, looked at my hands, and then looked at Chad.
“Okay,” I said as I jumped into his pirogue.
Chad paddled me to the riverbank, where my mom was waiting for me.
Meanwhile, Missy was terrified that I wouldn’t make it to the hospital in time.
Missy: Cole wasn’t supposed to be born until a week later, but I went into labor a few hours after Jase left the house to go hunting. I went to the hospital, where I was placed on monitors. Once my doctors and nurses confirmed I was truly in labor, I started to panic because Jase wasn’t anywhere near the hospital.
I was crying because I couldn’t get ahold of Kay after I called her the first time, but I eventually reached her. After the problems I had with Reed, I did not want to deliver this baby without Jase. I knew I couldn’t do it without him. Well, then the doctors told me they had another C-section scheduled for later that day, and since I was already in labor, they wanted to deliver Cole immediately. I started crying even more after I realized Jason wouldn’t be there. I was in pure panic mode! I couldn’t believe Jason was going to miss it!
When I reached my truck, I told my mom to let me drive. It usually takes about forty minutes to get from my dad’s property to the hospital. Well, I made it in about fifteen minutes! I had my flashers on and when we reached the hospital parking lot, there was smoke coming out from under the hood. I ran into the operating room without even washing my hands. When the doctor saw I was covered in blood, she looked at me like, “What have you been doing?” I told her, “I came from skinning a dead raccoon to watching a live human birth.” Amazingly, the doctor never changed facial expressions and told me to wash up.
Missy: Right after the doctor cut me open, I heard a nurse say, “Guess who’s here?” I didn’t even know if they were talking to me. I had a sheet in front of me, blocking my view, so I couldn’t see anyone. Then they said, “The dad’s here.” I was like, “I don’t want my dad in here!” Once Jason entered the room and I heard his voice, I felt a relief that I can’t even describe. He peeked his head around the sheet and said, “Hey, babe,” like it was just another ordinary day. He started talking to the doctors and nurses and telling them what all he had been doing that morning, and I heard everyone laughing. I started giggling and laughed the entire time because he was hysterical. I literally went from crying to laughing in a matter of seconds, and he put me at ease emotionally. He told everybody the story about skinning the raccoon while they were trying to get the baby out. After a few minutes, I heard my obstetrician say, “Jason, shhhh, I’m getting close to the baby. She can’t laugh anymore, so you’re going to have to stop talking.”
Cole’s birth happened so fast. This is going to sound strange, but when they cut Missy’s stomach and popped her open, it seemed eerily similar to what I’d left in the duck blind. Some guys can’t handle seeing their wives cut open, but it didn’t bother me at all. But when they pulled Cole out, the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck two full times. I remember thinking, Uh-oh, my son is in trouble. For some reason, I lost sense of where I was. It was like I was standing over the hood of a car with a bunch of guys trying to fix something. Well, the doctor was the mechanic and seemed to be having difficulties, so I reached in to help her unwrap the cord from my son’s neck. Everybody stopped when I did it, and the doctor looked at me like she was horrified. It was her way of telling me to back away. Thankfully, the doctors removed the cord and Cole was fine.
I was ecstatic to have two sons, and I was determined to be the father my dad was after he became a Christian. I quickly realized that parenting is the most difficult thing to do on this planet. The fact that all kids have different personalities creates a lot of uncertainty in how to handle them. Former heavyweight champion boxer Mike Tyson once said, “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.” I think the same thing can be said about parenting: everyone seems to be an expert until they actually have kids.
I decided the best thing I can do as a parent is to spend time with them, love their momma, and introduce them to Jesus. For me, the life I lead in front of them validates the message of Christ, the way I treat Missy is the model they will follow in their interactions with women, and I try to have quality moments with each of my children at least once every day. Whether I’m hunting or fishing with my boys or playing games with them, I always take the time to see where they are in their faith and relationships. One of the things Missy and I started doing when our boys became teenagers was having a big meal with them and their friends every Wednesday before midweek church. It gives us a chance to have spiritual conversations with them and to see who they are running with.
Of course, many of those conversations occur when we are hunting. The first time I took Reed hunting was when he was six years old. I took him on the last day of duck season, and we pulled right up to the water. I gave him a BB gun, and I had my shotgun. Our property was a haven for wood ducks, so that’s what I wanted to shoot so he could see what made this spot so special. Wouldn’t you know it? The first two ducks that flew in our sights were a mallard drake and hen. We were on a bank instead of in a blind, which was unusual, but the ducks floated down and lit about ten feet in front of us. More than anything, I showed Reed the power of a duck call, because the water in front of us was only about two inches deep. I couldn’t believe the ducks were sitting there.
“I’m going to count to three,” I whispered to Reed. “Get your BB gun. When I get to three, you fire.
“One, two, three!” I said.
Reed shot his BB gun, and I fired my shotgun at the same time. The drake never knew what hit him, and Reed immediately looked down at his BB gun. It was like he was thinking, What is this thing? I don’t think he even realized I killed the duck with my shotgun. Reed was so excited that I don’t believe he realized that I had shot, despite the fact of the booming sound. He looked back at me, and I told him, “Boy, you put a good shot on him, son.” We brought the duck home, and Missy took a photograph of us with it.
When Reed was old enough to go dove-hunting, I figured out that he was more into shooting shells than actually hunting. He wanted to fire his gun as much as possible. Whenever a dove flew by, I heard boom! Boom! Boom! I tried to tell him that shotguns weren’t heat-seeking missiles and that he had to aim at the bird. But when the next dove flew overhead, I heard boom! Boom! Boom! The first time we went dove-hunting, I think he went through two boxes of shells before he finally connected.
Reed was involved in some of our most famous duck hunts; he even has a blind named after him. It’s called the Reed Robertson Hole. One year, we were having a really bad duck season. It was hot and there always seemed to be southwest winds, which aren’t ideal conditions on Phil’s property. One Sunday, the forecast called for more southwest winds, so nobody wanted to go hunting. I wasn’t going to pass up a morning in the duck blind, so I decided to take Reed with me. My expectations were so low that I was really only taking him to see the sunrise. I was convinced we wouldn’t see a single duck.
Well, it got to be daylight and nothing happened. But we were still spending quality time together, and I was talking to him about God and the outdoors. I looked up and saw two birds. I literally thought it was two crows flying overhead. But then I realized it was two mallard drakes. I called them and they made two passes over our blind before backpedaling right in front of us. They seemed to stop in motion about ten feet in front of us.
Reed raised his gun and shot three times in less than three seconds. Apparently, he still believed his shotgun was an AK-47. He went boom! Boom! Boom! By the time Reed was done, I raised my gun and shot both of them. He looked at me and was like, “What happened?” He looked at his gun and thought something was wrong with it.
“Son, you got excited and fired too quickly,” I said. “You’ve got to get on the duck.”
As soon as I looked up, I saw ten teal circling toward us. They came right into our decoys. I decided to give Reed the first shot again.
“Cut ’em,” I said.
Reed raised his gun and fired again. Boom! Boom! Boom! He shot one and then I shot another one.
“Hey, you’re on the board,” I said.
A while later, about seventy-five teal made three passes over us. I was going to let them light so Reed could get a good shot. About half of them lit and the other half came right toward us.
“Cut ’em,” I said.
I raised my gun and shot two of them. I heard Reed fire three times but didn’t see anything on the water.
“I think I got three of them that time,” he said.
“Son, don’t be making up stories,” I told him.
I was looking right where he shot and didn’t see anything. But then I looked to the right and realized he’d actually shot four. He hit three on one side and a stray pellet hit one in the back.
“Son, you have arrived,” I said.
We wound up killing our limit that day, when I didn’t expect us to see any ducks at all. Phil and everybody else made a big deal about it because we hadn’t seen many ducks in days. It was the most ducks we’d ever shot out of that blind, and we’ve never mauled them like that again there. Because I shared the experience with my son, it was one of my most special and memorable hunts. I learned a valuable lesson that day: you never know when the ducks are going to show up. That is why I go every day the season is open.
Much like his birth, Cole’s first hunting experience was a little more traumatic. He was five years old and we were getting ready to have our Christmas party at Phil’s house in 2002. Because we hunt on private land, we’re allowed to shoot deer from our vehicles. Cole and I climbed into my truck right before dark, and I drove next to the woods. As I was explaining safety and other things about hunting to him, a deer walked right into the middle of a trail. We hadn’t been there for five minutes before the deer showed up! I looked at Cole and pointed toward the front of the truck.
Without saying anything, I leaned my gun out the driver’s-side window of my truck and shot the deer. The deer did a double backflip and hit the ground. I looked at Cole and his mouth was wide open. I could have picked his jaw up from the floorboard.
“That’s how you do it, son,” I told him.
Cole didn’t say anything. I figured his ears were still ringing, and I instantly regretted not telling him to cover them. It ended up being a pretty traumatic experience for him, and I feared he’d never want to go hunting again. In hindsight, he might have been a little too young to witness something like that.
Eventually, Cole came around and wanted to go hunting as much as Reed. I took them hunting for squirrels, deer, and doves. I didn’t get to take them duck-hunting as much as I would have liked because we usually film our hunts and it’s too dangerous to have kids shooting around cameramen, especially when one of the cameramen is their uncle. I do take them at least a couple of times a year.
Cole’s most memorable duck hunt occurred on my dad’s property at a blind we call the Lake Blind. We created this great location by cutting down dead trees and cleaning out brush. The blind itself is like a small house; it can hold up to fifteen people. We mauled them that day, and Cole shot a canvasback duck, which is really rare to see in our area. Most of the canvasback ducks in North America are found at the Chesapeake Bay on the East Coast. The duck came in and lit in front of us, and we let Cole shoot it. It gave me the opportunity to explain to him that ducks taste the same whether they’re shot flying or sitting. Everybody made such a big deal about it, and he felt like the big man on campus. “Yeah, bring me down here, and I’ll get you a canvasback,” he said proudly.
Cole killed his first deer when he was about thirteen years old. I was sitting in a deer stand with him, and I saw two deer running toward an opening. They were moving pretty fast.
“When I holler, you shoot,” I told him.
As soon as the deer arrived at the opening, I hollered. The deer stopped, and Cole fired his gun. One of the deer hit the ground. Cole looked at me, and then I looked at him. He was grinning from ear to ear. He didn’t know blood was pouring down his face. I’d talked to him about shooting a gun and holding it tight. But the gun kicked back and the scope hit him square in the eye.
“You got him,” I said. “Oh, my goodness, did you get him! You’re going to have a big black eye, too.”
“What?” he said as he reached toward his face.
He looked at me like, “What just happened?” I think he actually thought he’d just shot himself.
“Yeah, you’re going to have a good scar to commemorate your first deer,” I told him. “The first rule is you’ve got to hold your gun tight when you fire, but it was a good shot.”
Kind of like Willie and me, Cole and Reed are polar opposites. Cole is a quiet kid, but when he says something it’s usually funny. He takes care of his business and makes good grades. Reed is very talkative and engaging. He manages to pass in school, but he has had to work hard at his studies. However, he is an incredible singer, musician, and artist. He’s high-strung and is a live wire but is a natural leader. Cole has a tendency to think things through and analyze them, while Reed tends to be more of a risk taker. Despite their differences, they are two of the finest young men I know and I couldn’t be more proud of both of them.
I think the best thing you can do for your kids is to be there for them as much as possible. When my boys were born, I decided I was going to go to every one of their games if they were involved in sports. It was something I had to grow into because my dad didn’t attend any of my sporting events when I was a kid. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve missed one of their games. I build my schedule around their baseball and football games. I really enjoy sports and competition and think they’re good, clean fun. Sports teach so much about patience, perseverance, teamwork, and life in general. If kids aren’t involved in something like sports or hunting and fishing, they start getting into mischief because they’re bored.
When my boys started playing Little League baseball, I was at every game and served as an assistant coach a couple of times. It didn’t take me long to realize the problem with Little League baseball wasn’t the players but their parents. Some of the things I witnessed coaches and parents do in front of their kids was downright shameful. I spent ten years observing the chaos of Little League baseball before deciding I needed to step in and bring a godly approach to our league. When Cole turned fourteen, I decided to become his head coach in his final season of Little League. I accepted the responsibility like I was the general manager of a Major League Baseball team. I assembled a dream team of coaches: Justin Martin, who works with me at Duck Commander, was my hitting coach; my brother Alan’s son-in-law Jay, who was a high school athletics director and coached kids for more than ten years, was my bench coach; and a great friend of mine, Paul Stephens, who coached semiprofessional baseball for twenty years, was my pitching coach. These men knew their baseball, but more important, they were godly men with great character.
I took the job very seriously and called a parents’ meeting about every week. I never raised my voice in anger the entire year—nor did any of our coaches—and we always stayed positive. Our top priority was to be godly role models to the boys, and we spent as much time talking with them about their lives as we did baseball. Most of the kids came from broken homes, and some of the boys were incredibly bitter and angry about life. We made the baseball field our “safe place,” and I wouldn’t allow any outside distractions to enter. We became extremely close and I grew to love every one of those boys as my own. We were one of the least athletically gifted teams in the league, but we finished with a 14–2 record and won the championship. It was my first and last season as a head coach. I figured it couldn’t get any better after that.
Both of my sons participate in various sports at Ouachita Christian School in Monroe, which leads to a lot of quality family time for us. Reed played on two OCS football teams that won Louisiana Class A state championships in football in 2011 and 2012, and Cole was on the team as an eighth grader in 2011. When OCS beat West St. John High School 23–7 to win a state title at the Louisiana Superdome in New Orleans in 2011, Missy sang the national anthem before the game and was flanked by our sons. To me it symbolized one of the main reasons they turned out to be such good kids, because they have an incredible mom. It was an awesome moment shared by our family, and the fact that our school won it all made it that much sweeter.
As grand as winning the state championship was, the most gratifying moments in my life were when my two sons surrendered to Christ in baptism. A lot of effort from friends and family helped lead my boys to their decision, and I am filled with gratitude for each and every one of them. I’ve always been a guy who thinks he can fix everything and figure it out. But then you have kids and you realize, Hey, I’m going to need some help. There’s really no manual for raising kids. There’s no easy way, but God’s Word is a good blueprint.
In John 3:3, Jesus told a religious man named Nicodemus, “I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again.” Nicodemus thought he was referring to a second physical birth, which would be impossible. Jesus answered in John 3:5: “No one can enter the kingdom of God unless he is born of water and the Spirit.” I eventually came to realize that the characteristic I have most in common with my kids is that I am flawed and make mistakes. In Christ we find mutual forgiveness, and our new birth gives us the opportunity to start over with God’s spirit in our heart.
There are a few people on this earth I would give my life for, and my kids are at the top of the list. However, I am positive that I would not offer my kids’ lives for anyone. I love them too much. That is the reason my top priority as a parent has been, and always will be, to point them to Jesus. Jesus died on a cross because God gave up His perfect Son in love so everyone on earth could find justice and forgiveness. The fact that Jesus went along with it willingly makes Him worthy of being the ultimate role model for my kids.