But fishing. That is a whole other, wonderful subject. Fishing touches that deep place inside my inner child, where time stands still and things old and young and innocent all come together. It's where nature, water, Daddy and yesterday seem to converge.
My Daddy used to take my sister and I fishing. At first, we only had cane poles that we used, with red and white bobbers and a hook on the end. We never really caught anything with them. We thought it was because of our antiquated poles. I remember being jealous of a boy that had a fancy Zebco rod when we were fishing at a lake one time. He was hauling in one trout after another with it, fishing with pieces of corn. We'd fish at the lake behind our house, little creeks on the side of the road, state parks where our family camped, and overnight hauls to strange dark lakes, where we'd ride for hours in our musty, old fishing car. There was always something wonderful about the hiss of that Coleman lantern and the mystery of fishing at night, whispering and baiting the hooks, hearing the plop as the worm hit the surface of the water. We would quietly wait, sitting on soggy shores under old blankets, hoping for a furtive tug on the line. When we got hungry, Daddy would dig out cans of Vienna sausages and boxes of Little Debbies. There's nothing like rooting that first sausage out of the can, that mealy mystery meat....but actually delicious when you're hungry enough to eat a bear.
We graduated to little Zebco fishing poles. I believe Daddy bought them at Sears. They were black and white and had a little button you'd push and then release when you threw out the line. We thought we were in high cotton. But it didn't help our fishing skills. We were way too excited to be fooling the fish. Except finally, one long night, on a really long bridge in Pensacola, Florida.... we had gone on a rare family vacation, just for a couple of days. Daddy, Melanie and I went in the middle of the night with our rods and a big half-frozen container of squid, the nastiest thing I'd ever smelled or touched. Our brother was still little, so he stayed back with Mama at the hotel. For some reason, we struck gold that night. We started pulling up one fish after another. The old fisherman began sauntering up, asking what we were fishing with. We filled up a cooler. Then another one. The night was fresh and sparkling, full of promise. Finally we packed it in and lugged all those fish into our hotel room. Did I say hotel? I meant motel. I remember Mama taking Daddy's pocket knife and gutting those fish in the bathroom, stinking up everything. By the time we left the next morning, she had applied her magic and it was all clean and there were two coolers full of fish.
I don't remember eating any of them when we eventually got home, but I do remember Daddy burying some of them in the garden. He said that they would help fertilize it. I do believe that that was the last time Melanie and I went fishing with Daddy. Maybe we were just looking for that pot of gold and finally found it. We grew up, got married, but Daddy continued his rounds of taking kids fishing. My brother, 8 years younger than my sister, had his crazy turn of middle-of-the-night trips and sleeping in cars. When grandkids starting arriving, Daddy took them in clusters, starting with the five boys that came first, and then adding in the girls as they appeared. At last count, my parents have 21 grandchildren and 9 great-grandchildren (with 2 more on the way). They live their days out, traveling to their grandkids' games, speeches, scouting ceremonies, showers, weddings, dinners, recitals, and whatever else they're doing. They're truly amazing.
In retrospect, it never really was about catching fish.
We graduated to little Zebco fishing poles. I believe Daddy bought them at Sears. They were black and white and had a little button you'd push and then release when you threw out the line. We thought we were in high cotton. But it didn't help our fishing skills. We were way too excited to be fooling the fish. Except finally, one long night, on a really long bridge in Pensacola, Florida.... we had gone on a rare family vacation, just for a couple of days. Daddy, Melanie and I went in the middle of the night with our rods and a big half-frozen container of squid, the nastiest thing I'd ever smelled or touched. Our brother was still little, so he stayed back with Mama at the hotel. For some reason, we struck gold that night. We started pulling up one fish after another. The old fisherman began sauntering up, asking what we were fishing with. We filled up a cooler. Then another one. The night was fresh and sparkling, full of promise. Finally we packed it in and lugged all those fish into our hotel room. Did I say hotel? I meant motel. I remember Mama taking Daddy's pocket knife and gutting those fish in the bathroom, stinking up everything. By the time we left the next morning, she had applied her magic and it was all clean and there were two coolers full of fish.
I don't remember eating any of them when we eventually got home, but I do remember Daddy burying some of them in the garden. He said that they would help fertilize it. I do believe that that was the last time Melanie and I went fishing with Daddy. Maybe we were just looking for that pot of gold and finally found it. We grew up, got married, but Daddy continued his rounds of taking kids fishing. My brother, 8 years younger than my sister, had his crazy turn of middle-of-the-night trips and sleeping in cars. When grandkids starting arriving, Daddy took them in clusters, starting with the five boys that came first, and then adding in the girls as they appeared. At last count, my parents have 21 grandchildren and 9 great-grandchildren (with 2 more on the way). They live their days out, traveling to their grandkids' games, speeches, scouting ceremonies, showers, weddings, dinners, recitals, and whatever else they're doing. They're truly amazing.
In retrospect, it never really was about catching fish.
What a wonderful time, little girls giggling. Serious conversations about life, the Lord and what will I be. The Lord blessed those times. Sweet times of seeing my girls develop into wonderful caring women, they still bless my heart. The Lord brought me from the trash heap into His kingdom, where there is constant love. I've never got over Jesus.
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