Life Lesson

The weather never mattered much.  At least not to my old man.

We slogged down the steep bank. He led the way. I lagged behind, meticulous in my efforts to mimic his every move. I had no certain desire to disappoint, but perhaps more to the point, did not relish the thought of plunging headlong down the slippery slope, impaling myself on my new fishing pole. His outing would be over.

I thought that would be bad. He surely would have agreed.

I tried hard to keep up, though the challenge was no small one. I needed every God-given faculty just to combat the fierce gauntlet of menacing branches whose scraggly evil arms flailed desperately at my vulnerable frame. He casually brushed them aside.

We pushed onward.

Now we could hear the brook gurgling below, meandering aimlessly down the mountainside. At least the meandering appeared aimless to me.

He told me they used to cut ice out of the lake above and haul it down the mountain to sell to stores. I thought the clouds were neat.

He said some monster trout were proud to call these waters their home. I didn't much care for monsters.

He led me to the water's edge. I stumbled blindly behind.

He said to walk softly because the fish could hear me. I thought only if they wanted to.

He said to move slowly because their eyes could see me through the clear water. I rolled mine.

He told me to cast my line under the big stump in the middle of the water. Dutifully, I did.

I felt a tug on my line and saw my pole bend. My old man did too. He yelled to set the hook. I didn't know what that meant, but pulled with all my might.

He said hold on tight. I didn't think there was another option.

He held out the net. I carefully guided my catch into it.

He told me that was a big fish. I smiled.

He smiled back.