We were driving along, the three of us an I noticed something odd. There was no noise coming from the back seat, not a single sound.
Daddy: What are you two doing? It's awfully quiet back there."
Isobel and The Boy: "..."
I learned long ago that when the two of them are this quiet, no good can come of it. I flipped the mirror down to look at them and noticed only the tops of their heads. Both deep in the throes of video game hypnosis. It would be a quiet ride. I only wished we were going further than the grocery store.
Isobel broke the silence.
Isobel: "I forget Daddy, is it just shit I'm allowed to say or can I say bullshit too?"
The Boy: "Izzy! God stop saying both of them!"
I have several memories from my childhood that are permanently etched into my brain. One is of my father's jeans, with his legs still quite inside them piercing the water beside me as his hands reached in to pull me out. I had wandered down the shore when we were on holiday. I kept wandering until I was literally in over my head. I have no memory of any of it except the jean covered legs and the hands pulling me out.
I have another very clear memory of getting up early with my father-very early on a Saturday morning to go fishing. He was wearing jeans and sneakers, a t- shirt of some description and a black cardigan he called his fishing sweater. It smelled of cigarettes and bait and I can still smell it and feel the warmth of it as he draped it around me when I got cold sitting in a boat in the middle of Lake Ontario. Again, I have no memory of the rest of the day, not what we caught (if anything) nor when we went or with whom but I remember that sweater and I remember feeling a bond with my father that I hadn't felt to that point...I took the kids fishing this past weekend, Father's day.
There are certain things that one must have when going fishing and I endeavoured to introduce Izzy and The Boy to these unwritten rules of the sport. For example, one must have a fishing pole. Now you might take it for granted that everyone knows and understands this concept but when I mentioned to Isobel that we had to go out on Saturday to get her a fishing pole before we went fishing on Sunday she asked, 'will I really need one?' I couldn't tell if she was being serious or existential. With her, either could be the appropriate answer.
The second item, is a tackle box. Not essential for everyone per se but at least one member of the fishing party should have a reasonably equipped box of lures etc and be willing to share with the others. In our case, The Boy has a flashy newer number that has a handful of lures in it and mine is a well worn beat up dull orange piece of crap that doesn't fit all of the necessary things a parent is required to bring when taking his kids fishing and it is held shut by a cotton hair tie.
Isobel thought it was the greatest treasure chest she had ever seen when she opened it up to view the contents within.
"When do I get my own box and things?" she asked referring to the multicoloured lures and plugs inside the box.
"Learn to fish a little bit better and then I'll get you one." I said.
"Do they have pink ones?" she asked hopefully.
"I imagine so," I said. "I think you can just about get every colour you could think of."
"O.K.," she said. "But until I get mine can I be in charge of this one?"
"O.K." I said. "But you musn't touch anything inside of it. There are hooks all over and I don't want you to get stuck on one."
She agreed not to touch anything without asking me first without any sort of complaint at all. This in and of itself damn near floored me.So I let her carry it all she wanted, which she did with an air of authority. She might not have been allowed to touch anything but she damn sure wasn't going to let anybody else touch it while she was on the job.
And so it was off to get her a pole. There were many to choose from and she chose a snappy Tinkerbell number with a light up handle. A decent amount of line and a decent amount of test on the line. I learned from an earlier fishing venture with The Boy, not to underestimate the power (read blind luck) of the junior fisher as his first time out with me, he caught a three or four pond bass that nearly yanked the pole out of his hands-but didn't break his line (thank-god).
We cashed out, got in the car and were headed for home when I noticed she was quiet. Abnormal for her especially after getting something new. Usually she will chirp away for hours to her minions about the wonders of her new things.
"What's the matter?" I asked her.
Her eyes began to well up with tears. "I didn't really want that one." she choked out.
We were nearly home or I would have taken her back into the store to get a different one.
"Honey, all the poles were the same. All the light up ones wee the same. Just different pictures. Which one did you want?"
"Spiderman." She said.
Up until this point I didn't think she even knew who Spiderman was, let alone want a fishing pole with his picture emblazoned on it.
"Trust me baby," I tried to soothe her. "They are all the same and Tinkerbell will work just as well."
"O.K." she conceded.
As fate would have it, just as I went to string up ol' Tinkerbell, the line snapped and the reel seized. My brain snapped into high gear.
"Get in the car guys." I yelled out to them. "Izzy's pole is broken so we're going back to the store to get her a new one."
We got back to the store, returned the old pole and got a new one AND returned back home all before you can say 'Spiderman who?' and with her light up Mickey Mouse fishing pole, Isobel was all set to head out to the pond.
There is a third thing that i believe is essential for the true fishing experience, that is a hat. A fishing hat. everybody has one of one sort or another...or at least should have one. I had my beloved Montreal hat and Izzy her Purple Dora baseball hat but The Boy's hats had all become too small for his head.
He disappeared upstairs and came back down with one on his head. He went to the bathroom mirror and re-emerged after several minutes of adjusting to get it just right.
"You can't wear that hat Buddy," I said.
"What!!??" he asked incredulously.
It is worth noting that the hat was striped red and gold with the words High Times emblazoned across the top of it with a giant pot leaf smack dab in the middle of it. A gift from his father some time ago.
"Oh, because it's so dusty?"
"Yeah," I said. "You know how Nana hates when things are dusty."
I lent him one of my hats and we were out the door, finally and within twenty minutes were standing on the shore of my mothers pond poles in hand ready to make lasting memories.
I am a lure fisherman and The Boy fancies himself the same. He caught his bass on a top floating lure after all. Isobel opted for the more traditional worm, hook and bobber route. The Boy cast his line out as I put the worm on for Isobel. She made her first cast and it was a beautifu l one. The furthest she had cast since getting the pole. (at least an hour of practice casts the night before had clearly paid off)
"Izzy I'm telling you that you are going to catch a fish almost right away fishing with worms."
The word had barely left my mouth as she got her first hit. I figured she would be a bit panicky when it happened but she handles it like pro.
"Daddy, I got a fish, I got a damn fish! Holy Crap I got Fish!"
"Reel it in." I said as she wound up her line. It was a sun fish and a decent sized one at that.
"That's not as big as the one i got." said The Boy.
"No, this is only a sunfish," I said. "But if I were catching pan fish for supper, this one would be big enough to keep>"
"Really?" he asked. "Good job Izzy." (To his credit, The Boy got a decent sized one too)
Sadly though, this was the best our day was and it was never that good again. We did learn some things though. That Isobel is the world champion sunfisher of all time- she caught them all day, even when she said she had had enough and merely dropped her line in the water by mistake. Not to mention that of the six fish she caught, two of them were with a bare hook. (I guess it still smelled like a worm) We also learned that The Boy is as skillful a tree catcher as ever I've seen. Present company included and that he is now convinced I owe my father at least $6000 in lost fishing lures ( I do remember a Daredevil he was a little miffed about at the time). And most importantly, that an adult and two children can never fit comfortably nor fish successfully in a paddle boat. I don't care how skinny the family is or how active the fish are. It can't be done.
I don't remember who said it, It may have been Abraham Licoln or it may have been me, though it seems awfully profound to have come from someone like me but there is a saying that goes something like this; "The man who has everything is the man who can look in his child's eyes and see the love therein." I went out there hoping to put a memory in my kids that would last a lifetime and came away with one of my own...Best Father's Day ever.
This weekend will see something come to a close that will affect all three of us, Me, Izzy and The Boy. Mrs. Narrator's roller derby trips are over until October. That's not to say that we won't do anything fun or interesting as a whole family unit but the dynamic of it all will be entirely different. I know the kids are excited about the prospect and so is Mrs. Narrator but I can't help feel a little melancholy about the loss of my Friday night dinner companions and my shopping buddies.
And so gentle readers, the kids and I have decided that such a monumentous occasion deserves an event equally monumentous to mark its passing. Something worthy of remembrance and celebration with song and merriment for years and generations to come.
We sat down, the three of us and decided that this weekend, our last weekend as a power trio, we will Get A McRib and see The Green Lantern and Perhaps Do A Little Light Shopping!
O.K so we don't aim high...what do you want from us? Revel in your mediocrity, we do...at least with Mrs. Narrator being home on the weekends now, the kids can stop carrying around the cardboard cut out of her. It tends to block the rear window when we're driving around...
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