I spent the sweetest morning taking my dad fishing.
I tagged along to make sure he’d be okay, to help him carry all his stuff, and to keep him company for a few hours. He was little kid excited, he hasn’t fished for a couple years.
I picked him up early this morning – we stopped for coffee and a donut – then set off to catch the big one.
Arriving at his secret spot, we found it already occupied by three older fishermen who instead of ignoring us so we’d go away (like most fishermen would) – waved us down to join them. They greeted my dad, like they’d been waiting for him all morning.
When they saw he was a little unsteady they helped him set up his pole.
When they heard him realize he left the worms he’d bought as bait at home in his fridge, they reached in their pouches and offered up some bait of their own.
They set him up in the choicest of spots and cheered him on as he (a little unsteadily) cast his line into the water.
And then we sat there, these 4 old guys (and me) telling fishing stories, and life stories.
They talked of aches and pains, and spiders, and cigars, and losses and loves. My dad told them how much he loves me. He told them about my family and about how much he misses my girl — and of course how much he misses my mom.
The guys said he didn’t needn’t have said a word about any of that- they could just tell.
These guys told my dad they fished the same spot for a few hours 6 mornings a week. They hoped my dad would come back. They are committed to fishing they said, because it keeps them thinking and active. And they are committed to helping the folks they meet on the waters edge because it keeps them connected, “and that’s what it’s all about”.
There were a few bites this morning, but not a single fish was brought to shore — and no one cared.
