Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Trout Fishing With My Daddy

My dad and I have been inseparable almost since my birth. I say almost because, as the story goes, when I was first born I was so ugly my dad had to go out in the parking lot to catch his breath. Fortunately he decided he'd keep me, ugly and all, and I've been his shadow ever since. He bought me my first pair of waders when I was so small they didn't even make my size. We stuffed a couple of extra socks in the toes of the boots, rolled down the legs and tied rope around each of my thighs. I remember trying them out in the mud puddles in front of our bait shop.

Mom loves telling the story of how my dad always took me trout fishing with him, before I could even walk. He'd strap on his waders, wrap me up on his back and away we'd go. She said she never thought to be worried until he showed her a picture he took one day. I was sitting on a tiny island formed from clump grass - water all around - while my dad fished. When she asked him what he was thinking, he replied, "I told her to stay. I knew she would." And I did. I loved being with my daddy.

Our shared love of fishing has kept my dad and me close. We have always had that in common. When my friends were going through their teenage rebellious years - not wanting anything to do with their parents - my dad and I were out on the streams. Our drives to and from the fishing spots were when we did most of our talking. My dad heard his daughter's secrets and dreams at a time when most girls start to pull away from their fathers. I, in turn, received a lot of attention, direction and wisdom (carefully given so I wouldn't recognize it as such and be tempted to pull away.) He taught me confidence and honesty and integrity. Other men wouldn't dream of taking their daughters fishing. That was to be shared with sons. My father never hid his delight that he had taught me well and I could hold my own with any of the boys. Because of his pride, I knew I could succeed. Other men would keep 11 or 12 or even 20 fish when the limit was 10. I mean, really, who would know? Dad never kept more than 10 and they couldn't be one-fraction of an inch less than the legal size. His example taught me the importance of doing the right thing even when no one was looking.

Tonight we went trout fishing, my first time this year. I was a little out of practice and let several get away. Dad could have been impatient with me but he wasn't. He was more concerned that I had fun and that I walked away with my 5 keepers (the new limit.) When I showed frustration, he got in the stream and put his arm around me. He said, "It's okay. You can't expect to be perfect your first day back in the saddle."

I love him. Thank you Father for such a wonderful dad. Because of him, I can love You without reservation.

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