{"id":7265,"date":"2014-07-28T00:05:10","date_gmt":"2014-07-28T05:05:10","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/jolenephilo.com\/staging\/?p=7265"},"modified":"2014-07-26T15:15:31","modified_gmt":"2014-07-26T20:15:31","slug":"lessons-from-my-father-gone-fishin","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/jolenephilo.com\/staging\/lessons-from-my-father-gone-fishin\/","title":{"rendered":"Lessons from My Father: Gone Fishin’"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Gone<\/a><\/p>\n

It’s summer, and for anglers that means it’s always time for fishing. My mother loved to fish, and her love of the sport took root in two of her three children. When you read this story about one of our family’s fishing excursions, you’ll wonder what possessed my sibs to touch a fishing pole again.<\/em><\/p>\n

Gone Fishin\u2019<\/h1>\n

When, therefore, Peter heard that it was the Lord,<\/em>
\nhe put his outer garments on, for he was stripped for working,<\/em>
\nand threw himself into the sea.<\/em>
\nJohn 21:7<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cCareful, Jolene,\u201d Mom warned as I crammed my bamboo fishing pole into the trunk. \u201cLay it in gently, or it will break.\u201d I shoved it in harder, secretly hoping this bane of my existence would snap in two, so I could avoid the bullhead encounter I knew loomed dead ahead. \u201cJolene!\u201d Mom grabbed the pole out of my hand and shooed me away. \u201cI told you to be careful. Why don\u2019t you get in the car and wait there?\u201d<\/p>\n

A golden opportunity to shape my own destiny was snatched out of my hands. I slumped my shoulders and dragged my saddle-shoe shod feet towards the crowded back seat.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome sit by me, Jolene,\u201d cajoled Grandpa Stratton, patting the spot next to him. I climbed in and snuggled up to my grandpa, who had just enough room in his life for three grandchildren. With John on his lap and Jill and me on either side of him, we covered him with our wriggling devotion, knowing that he would divide his attention and the nickels in his pocket equally amongst us.<\/p>\n

\u201cSend Johnny up to the front, Dad. With four of you in the back seat, you\u2019ll get mighty hot and crowded. It\u2019s a good hour to Storm Lake, you know.\u201d Dad reached up and cushioned John\u2019s descent after Grandpa hoisted him over the seat back. \u201cTurn around and sit down, John,\u201d Dad ordered.<\/p>\n

John delayed just a moment, crouching on the seat ahead of us, letting his ornery eyes peek over the car\u2019s bench seat. He raised himself so his whole smirking face was revealed, baiting his practically perfect sisters. \u201cI got gum,\u201d he gurgled.<\/p>\n

Jill and I refused to bite or chew upon this injustice, for sitting in the coveted positions next to Grandpa all the way to Storm Lake more than cancelled out the lure of a measly stick of gum. John sneakily bobbed his entire chest above the seat, exposing not one measly stick, but an entire package of Wrigley\u2019s gum poking out of his front shirt pocket.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere\u2019d ya get that?\u201d I sputtered.<\/p>\n

\u201cJohnny, turn around and sit down.\u201d Mom reiterated Dad\u2019s order as she slid into place behind the wheel of the car. He flipped around and flopped down on the seat, in the process casting a triumphant look of glee at our incredulous, gapingly gumless mouths. We cuddled closer to Grandpa in a vain attempt of tit for tat, but it was too late. John was facing the front window, well aware that he had won the first round of the angler\u2019s derby, dishing out to his sisters a particularly repugnant fish gumbo surprise.<\/p>\n

The adults, unaware of the competitive undercurrents pulling their small fry to and fro, discussed the plans for the day. \u201cOnce we get to Storm Lake, the kids and I will get out our fishing poles and head for the dock. Harlan, you and Grandpa Stratton can sit in the car and visit or get out and sit on the shore.\u201d<\/p>\n

Grandpa lit Dad\u2019s pipe and then his own Camel cigarette while Mom issued captain\u2019s orders. \u201cWe\u2019ll fish for awhile and then stop and eat the lunch I packed. I can hardly wait to try out my new rod and reel.\u201d Mom\u2019s excitement reminded us of how much she liked to fish, a pastime for which none of the rest of us had yet developed a similar passion.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow come we kids don\u2019t get a rod and reel? How come we gotta have bamboo ones?\u201d Jill demanded. She was in her \u201ceverything should be perfectly fair\u201d phase, a position I covertly admired, though I lacked her gumption in voicing such a potentially volatile manifesto.<\/p>\n

\u201cA rod and reel is for a grown up, Jill. Your bamboo poles are just fine while you learn how to fish.\u201d<\/p>\n

I knew what that meant. \u201cA rod and reel was too expensive\u201d is what that really meant. Lots of things were too expensive at our house, most notably, I fumed, whole packages of Wrigley\u2019s gum. Jealousy, that green worm, writhed beneath the surface of my emotions, proximity to Grandpa unable to suffocate its parasitic presence.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow\u2019d,\u201d I wondered, \u201chow\u2019d my brother get a whole pack a gum?\u201d This day was going from bad to worse, so far as I was concerned. John had all the gum, Jill had Grandpa\u2019s arm around her while the one at my side maneuvered his cigarette back and forth. All I had for consolation was the prospect of a hot afternoon spent spearing worm halves on a hook and drowning them in clear, cool water. The closer we drew to our destination, the deeper I wallowed in my misery. At the same time I could see anticipation rising in my mother as she sped towards an afternoon of fishing, indulging in a relaxation that seldom fit into her duty-filled days.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere we are,\u201d she trilled as we pulled into the graveled parking lot next to the public dock. \u201cHmm, there\u2019s not much shade,\u201d she noticed and turned toward Dad and Grandpa. \u201cI hope you don\u2019t get too hot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry about me,\u201d Dad assured her. He loved to bake in the heat, for he often complained that the numbness in his limbs made them, especially his legs, feel cold. \u201cMaybe I\u2019ll finally warm up.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mom didn\u2019t hear a word he said, so intent was she on unpacking the trunk. She pulled out the poles and carefully leaned them against the side of the car. Then, she heaved the collapsed wheelchair out of the trunk, unfolded it, and set it out upon the gravel.<\/p>\n

\u201cHarlan, have Cyril push the chair up to the side of the car if you want to get out for awhile, but for Pete\u2019s sake, don\u2019t get too close to the water,\u201d she warned him. She turned back to the trunk, searching for the fish bucket and the can of worms hiding behind the box containing our lunch.<\/p>\n

Taking advantage of her unusually distracted state, the three of us oozed out of the car and inched towards the water, its cool wet promise drawing us to its inviting depths. \u201cYou kids stay out of the water!\u201d Mom hollered, her head hidden in the trunk. \u201cI told you no swimming or wading today, just fishing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMom,\u201d we whined in hot protest, \u201cwe\u2019re burnin\u2019 up. We\u2019re dyin\u2019!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo not go in the water.\u201d She drowned our protests in a sea of commands. \u201cCome get your poles. Jill, carry the fish bucket, and Jolene, you carry the can of worms.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEwwww, I hate worms,\u201d I squealed. \u201cThey make me barf.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFine, John, carry the worms.\u201d<\/p>\n

Shooting a disdainful, manly glance my way, he picked up the can and strode down the dock, following Jill. The top of the entire package of gum waving from the pocket of the shirt which covered his puffed up little chest taunted me.<\/p>\n

\u201cEnjoy yourselves,\u201d she sang out to the men in the car, swinging into line along the pier.<\/p>\n

I lifted my pole and shuffled along, making steady if unenthusiastic progress until I managed to wrap my ankle in the fish line, nearly impaling my digits upon the fish hook in a vain attempt to untangle the situation. Coordination was never my strong suit. Knocking myself off balance as I swerved to save Thumbkin, I screamed, \u201cMom, HELP!\u201d teetering precariously near the dock\u2019s edge.<\/p>\n

Mom turned and sprang into action. She dropped her rod and reel and sped towards me, pulling me to the middle of what I now considered the dangerously narrow dock. \u201cJolene, how did you do this?\u201d She sat me down on the wooden slats and unwound the line from my ankle.
\n\u201cI da\u2019 know,\u201d I sniveled. \u201cMom, will ya put the worm on my hook?\u201d<\/p>\n

Sensing another catastrophe in the making unless she agreed, she answered, \u201cYes, I\u2019ll bait your hook.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWill ya take the bullheads off, too?\u201d I pressed my advantage, for the nasty stingers behind their evil gills filled my cowardly heart and dainty fingers with dread.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she sighed, slight frustration tinging her voice.<\/p>\n

I jumped up and bragged mightily as I headed to my fellow spawn, \u201cMom\u2019s gonna\u2019 bait my hook and take off the bullheads for me.\u201d Round two of the fishing derby had ended in my favor.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo fair,\u201d they protested. \u201cMom!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, Okay.\u201d She swam into the fray. \u201cI\u2019ll help you all. Hold out your poles.\u201d Patiently she baited our hooks and helped us cast our lines into the glassy water. She told us to watch the red and white bobber on the surface. \u201cIf it moves, you\u2019ve got a bite.\u201d<\/p>\n

We sat on the dock, our feet dangling over the edge, tantalizingly close to the lake\u2019s cool wetness. She baited her own hook, cast with expert precision and settled herself on the dock. Her shoulders relaxed and her eyes closed for a moment as she savored this bit of peace.<\/p>\n

\u201cJolene, look.\u201d Jill pointed at my bobber. \u201cYou gotta bite.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, Mom, I gotta bite.\u201d Never a rock in times of crisis, I nearly dropped the pole.<\/p>\n

Her eyes popped open. \u201cHang on and pull it in.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? How?\u201d Overwhelmed by responsibility, my hands trembled and my muscles turned to mush. \u201cHelp!\u201d I wailed.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood grief, Jolene, do you have to make everything into such a production?\u201d Her firm hands covered mine, and with a mighty yank she lifted pole, line, and daughter skyward. A bullhead dangled at the end of the line, while a youngster hung suspended upon a length of bending bamboo.<\/p>\n

\u201cHelp!\u201d I bellowed.
\n\u201cSit down and shut up,\u201d Mom commanded, and I did, at least until the bullhead flopped beside me on the dock.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not takin\u2019 that off the hook. It\u2019ll sting me.\u201d Hysteria ratcheted my voice up a few notches from its already considerable volume. \u201cGet it away from me, quick!\u201d My arms and legs flailed as I inched away from the scaly monster.<\/p>\n

\u201cJolene, shut up.\u201d Jill put her head close to mine. \u201cEveryone on this entire lake is lookin\u2019 at you. You\u2019re so embarrassing.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked around and discovered that, indeed, my performance was gathering a nice little audience. The men in the rowboat were laughing heartily, and the fisherman on the shore to the right of the dock was shaking his head. My father and grandpa had left the car and were nearing the water\u2019s edge, curious about the cause of the commotion.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook, Mom.\u201d I pointed towards them, pleased that my antics were drawing such a crowd. \u201cDad and Grandpa are gettin\u2019 in the water.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her rod and reel clattered to the dock again, and she sprinted toward the men. \u201cThat woman can run,\u201d I marveled.<\/p>\n

\u201cHarlan, put on your brakes! You\u2019re rolling towards the water!\u201d<\/p>\n

Harlan looked up, and then down, in surprise, and seeing that his wife was correct, braked just in time to avoid baptism by immersion.<\/p>\n

\u201cCyril!\u201d she cried as Grandpa stumbled over a piece of gravel in his attempt to catch the wheelchair. \u201cWatch out!\u201d<\/p>\n

He reached forward and caught hold of Dad\u2019s wheelchair just before his own unintentional proclamation of faith was accomplished.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you two doing down here so close to the lake?\u201d she scolded. \u201cWould you please go back to the car, so I don\u2019t have to worry about you two and the kids?\u201d she begged.<\/p>\n

\u201cDorothy, it\u2019s gettin\u2019 hot in the car,\u201d Dad protested.<\/p>\n

\u201cLeave all the doors open,\u201d she snapped.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go back to the car,\u201d Grandpa advised catching sight of the wild look in his daughter-in-law\u2019s eye.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy gum!\u201d A shout from the dock wafted to the shore. \u201cMy gum fell in the lake!\u201d John wailed and gnashed his teeth.<\/p>\n

Jill and I stood frozen, watching the entire pack of gum float upon the surface of the water. Then we sprang into action flopping on our stomachs and reaching for the sweet, minty treasure, determined to rescue the five sticks of pleasure from a soggy fate.<\/p>\n

John saw immediately that our arms were too short, took a deep breath, and bellowed, \u201cMy gum!!!!\u201d<\/p>\n

We grabbed our poles and tried to guide the waterlogged package closer, but to no avail.<\/p>\n

A man of action if not forethought, John took the only step possible, one long step off a short plank, and splashed into the water.<\/p>\n

\u201cJohn, you can\u2019t swim!\u201d Jill informed him at the top of her lungs.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy gum,\u201d he burbled. His logic seemed impeccable to me. The gum was definitely worth the risk.<\/p>\n

\u201cGirls, get out of the way.\u201d Mom barreled down the dock, her short legs moving faster than I thought possible. We got out of the way. She lay down on her stomach, inching as far out on the dock as she could safely extend, stretching out her arm. \u201cJohn, grab my arm.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMY GUM!!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll give you another piece of gum,\u201d she promised. His arm swung toward her hand, and she strained forward, grabbing his wet hand, pulling him to her. She grabbed his collar, and by some reservoir of brute strength deep within herself, hauled him onto the dock. She sat a few moments, her chest heaving, her eyes closed, John dripping all over her lap.<\/p>\n

After a moment, she collected herself and stood, steadying John on his watery feet. She looked at Jill and me. \u201cGirls, pick up the poles. We\u2019re going home.\u201d Her shoulders sagged as she stooped down and picked up the fishing bucket, placing the full can of worms in its empty depths. She had lost round three of the fishing derby, but nobody had won.<\/p>\n

She walked towards the shore, and we tagged along behind her, John, then Jill, then me.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom,\u201d John piped up, \u201cwhen am I gettin\u2019 my gum? You promised.\u201d<\/p>\n

We never went fishing again.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It’s summer, and for anglers that means it’s always time for fishing. My mother loved to fish, and her love of the sport took root in two of her three children. When you read this story about one of our family’s fishing excursions, you’ll wonder what possessed my sibs to touch a fishing pole again. 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My mother loved to fish, and her love of the sport took root in two of her three children. When you read this story about one of our family’s fishing excursions, you’ll wonder what possessed my sibs to touch a fishing pole again. 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