The streets of New York City were wet and nasty on October 28, 1968 as I trudged back to my hotel after a long day of serious, and what turned out to be historical rock-n-roll recording. My killer band, The Amboy Dukes were laying down some more blistering tracks of firebreathing all American R&B&R&R and I was literally walking on air, giddy with youthful musical exuberance.
My girlfriend was at the hotel with our brand new son, Theodore Fleetwood Nugent, and we both knew that we were not ready to raise a child, so we reluctantly handed off this beautiful baby to a Catholic adoption agency, certain we were doing the right thing.
Life blazed on, and his mother and I drifted apart as teenage lovers are wont to do, but I never stopped thinking about little Fleetwood throughout the very intense adventure that my amazing career provided. The adoption papers were sealed, so the last thing I wanted to do was intervene and possibly disrupt the life Fleetwood was living with his new family.
Well, long story short, on October 28, 2010, on his 42nd birthday, the planets aligned, and with the help of his sister Louisa (another amazing story unto itself) the three of us met together for the very 1st time since his birth, and what a wonderful, glorious, emotional and incredibly happy reunion it was!
Both Fleetwood and Louisa were raised by wonderful, loving families, and the fact that they both grew into great Americans is testimony to the love of adopted families.
Fleetwood had never shot a bow or crossbow or handgun or rifle or hunted or fished or trapped or eaten venison, so I knew right away that I had a lot of catching up to do in order to bring him into the Nugent lifestyle.
And he caught on immediately and fell in love with allthings dad! Being brought up in Brooklyn, New York, he was very excited to plunge into the great Spirit of the Wild with his dad, so we set out to get him his hunter safety certification and get him into a deerstand ASAP.
Practicing all day with his Excalibur Matrix crossbow, he came off like William Tell in very short order. We were in the glorious rut zone of November in Michigan, so we geared up and headed for a favorite Shadow Hunter elevated blind where an emerald greed foodplot bisected a towering stand of white pines and a vast marsh.
Father and son whispered many a life’s story in the blind that afternoon, but eventually deer began to appear from the puckerbrush for a dusk feed. One giant old swampdonkey doe cautiously ambled into crossbow range, and patiently Fleetwood focused on his newly celebrated predator task at hand, zeroed in on the old gal, silently snicked off the safety, took careful aim, and let the Muzzy deathray fly.
You may have witnessed the intensity of the moment on Ted Nugent Spirit of the Wild television recently, but in the adrenalin overload of the moment, we both thought he had shot over the doe. Expressing much bewilderment and frustration, Fleetwood descended to retrieve his Lumenok glowing bolt, only to discover his projectile coated in blood! Well hallelujah and pass the SpiritWild joy, for shortly thereafter, a very excited father and son tracked a lovely bloodtrail to a very dead doe and rejoiced the baptismal bowhunt for my long lost son, Theodore Fleetwood Nugent.
What a day, what a moment, what a hunt, what a son! As the owner operator of three successful restaurants in Brooklyn, Fleetwood knows the essence of quality meat, and he couldn’t wait to gut, clean, hang, skin and butcher his hard earned prize of ultimate, hands on, personally harvested venison.
To say Fleetwood is hooked on the Spirit of the Wild is a gargantuan understatement. He is already booked for a spring bear hunt in Alaska and can’t wait to deer hunt this fall in Michigan and Texas with his dad and family. His two beautiful young daughters Perry and Emma fell in love with archery and with his beautiful wife Danielle, the Nugent deercamp will be overflowing with very happy family again this coming fall.
Welcome home son. I love you. It is so good to have another best hunting buddy in the Nugent camp.