In the process of “making conversation” a few days ago, someone asked me if I enjoyed fishing. Of course, without hesitation, I replied, “Absolutely.” I have always loved fishing. One of my earliest memories was of a fishing trip in which I caught a turtle that must have been about four or five feet in diameter. Or at least that's how big it seemed to my four or five-year-old eyes. It never seemed to matter what “kind” of fishing we did, if it was an opportunity to get out on or near the water, I was there.
In addition to the pure recreation of those fishing trips with my father, I learned many valuable lessons about preparedness, respect for nature and the value of a good sunscreen. Whenever my father and I would go fishing, our lunch would usually consist of a can of beanie–weenies, maybe vienna sausages, soda crackers, sometimes a sandwich; and if we were very lucky and if my mother had made a pound cake the night before, we would have desert. At an early age, my father taught me how to use a “p38” can opener, which I kept on my key chain. On this one particular Saturday fishing trip my key chain, and consequently my p38, were left at home. When lunchtime rolled around while my father and I were sitting in the boat, I came to the dreaded realization that I had no way of gaining access to the contents of the can of beanie–weenies I was planning to feast upon for lunch. Not to worry, I thought, my dependable father will come to my rescue. I asked my father if I could borrow his p38 in order to open my lunch. “Where's your p38?” he asked. “I left it at home,” was my reluctant reply. “Well, when you get home, you can open that can and have some beanie–weenies,” he replied. My father continued to eat his lunch while I sat there dumbfounded at his apparent lack of compassion. He allowed me to sit there for a few long moments, contemplating the notion of slow and painful starvation there in the middle of the boat, and then proceeded to open a can of beanie–weenies for me. He smiled at me with that “dad smile” that I miss so much to this day. “Did you learn anything?” he asked. That was often the question he posed after allowing me to face the consequences of my own actions. Even now, I often hear him ask that same question whenever I make a mistake in my life.
Another time I was sitting on the dock at my parents' place on the Steinhatchee River. I had a rod and reel out with a line in the water, with no bait. My mother asked me why. “I'm really not that interested in catching any fish right now, because then I'd have to clean them. I'm just enjoying the beautiful day,” was my reply. My mom gave me one of her “mom looks” (I miss those as well) and went back into the house.
It has been a long time since I have been able to go fishing. Yet many of those memories and lessons stay with me, even to this day. Now if I could only find that p38 so I can open this can of beanie–weenies.