Hello. Welcome to another edition of Flashback Friday. With Father's Day just around the corner, I saved one of my favorite memories about Dad until now. We will have to get into the Way-Back machine and jump the timeline, back to when I was six years old.
Sir Gattabout and our neighbor (the flaming marshmallow flinger of Flashback Friday #3) were going to walk down to the creek and go fishing. I wanted to go to. I had never been fishing, but it looked like so much fun on TV. "You're too little" Gattabout told me. "You stay here." My little heart was broken. I wanted so much to go fishing. I burst into tears.
Dad came home to find me crying my eyes out. "What's wrong?" he asked. "The boys went fishing and told me I was to little to go along." I blubbered out. "Let's see what we can do about taking you fishing" he said. He was tired after a long day at work, but he could stand to see me in my heartbroken state.
I didn't have the first piece of fishing equipment, so Dad scrounged around the house to see what he could find. He found an old cane pole upstairs in one of the rooms that we didn't use (we had just recently moved into this house). It had been left behind by the former resident. He then tied about three feet of string onto the pole. A cork become the bobber and a Christmas tree ornament hanger became the hook. We were ready to go fishing.
He walked me back to the creek. It was only about a half mile, but it seemed like a thousand to a six year old. We found a prime fishing spot, complete with a very large rock to sit upon. It was an angler's paradise. I "casted" my line and waited for the great haul of fish that I knew were just waiting to be caught. We fished for hours (or six minutes, which ever came sooner), and I told Dad that the fish weren't biting today, and that I was ready to go home. Did he fuss about spending all that time preparing my gear only to fish for about six minutes? Nope, he smiled, took my hand and we walked back to the house. He was happy because I got to fish, and now I was happy.
The images of sitting there "fishing" with Dad are forever burned into my mind. I never really cared for fishing after that. It may have had something to do with Gattabout chasing me around the yard with fish guts from a fish he had caught, but I really think it was because it couldn't have been any better than the first time. Thanks for taking me fishing Dad.