If I had to choose between benefitting from my father's baking skills or my mother's hunting ones, I think I would have chosen hers.
Baking is fine and all, but I don't have the green thumb with bread that my father does. He can make fancy delicacies from simple ingredients; paint a felling sun dropping into the ocean.
I'm more handy with weapons; I can handle a knife decently enough. I can catch a bird through the eye with an arrow, much like my mother used to. I find my peace in the depths of the woods.
This is how I know that I take more after my mother than that of my father. Because though I shoot like her, she wasn't the one to teach me how. I had to teach myself after she refused to pass her knowledge on to me. I think it hurts her to see her daughter learning how to defend herself; as if now that the Hunger Games are over, there is no need to learn basic survival skills.
But I disagree. The Hunger Games might be over, but they will never be forgotten. One of the most common phrases is that history has a knack for repeating itself.
And I want to be ready if it does.