Today I mentioned on air that I was once banned from fishing by my father. See, he was a big outdoors guy before he and my mother were married but it never really took with me. I’ve tried but hunting/fishing/trapping was never my scene despite having the usual childhood fantasies about being able to live off the land, or being self-sufficient. On what would be our final father/son fishing trip, my Dad and I went to the Government Dock so that I could cast a line or twelve, and he could smoke and drink a few adult beverages. I think we’d been out for about half an hour when I decided to try a BIG cast. Now, I was probably 9 at the time so I wasn’t using a real rod, I had one of the kids ones with the push button release on the reel. I went back for my huge cast and then flung my arm forward…only to have my arm stop short. Of course, being the persistent kid I was, I tried two more times before I heard the swearing coming from over the radio behind me. I turned around to see my father, standing, bare chested and bleeding back at the car desperately trying to get my fish hook out of his chest!
It’s something we laughed about (much) later, but I was banned from fishing, not just with my Dad, he told me unequivocally that I should never fish again. I have fished since then, as an adult, and thankfully haven’t had any more mishaps of that sort. Part of me is really looking forward to taking my kids fishing, but another part of me, somewhere in my chest, is constantly warning me to stand BESIDE them, not behind them if I do…