Fishing with my Father
Not just anybody taught me how to fish. A brilliant man, a providing man, an inspiring man
taught me how to fish. My father taught me how to fish.
During this past summer, I spent a week in Minnesota. My stepmother's parent's own a
bungalow north of Grand Rapids, so my family and I trucked up the nine plus hours it took to get to
Cutaway Cabin. The cabin was amazing, with Cutaway Lake right in the back yard. One of the seven
days we stayed in Cutaway, my father wanted to go fishing; the sport helped him and his father bond
while he was a younger. Since I never had even picked up a fishing pole prior to this boating
expedition, I thought this would be a good experience for me as well as my father.
With the sun beating down on us, me and my dad slowly made our way towards a spot where he
was fishing earlier that day.
“Do you see the fish beds?” he asked pointing at the water. After noticing my confused face, he
clarified. “The lighter spots in the water?”
“Oh, yeah.” I said peering into the blueness of the lake. The shadows of countless fish swam all
around our tiny vessel. Looking out of the boat, one could also see our shadows. My father's six foot
six stature dwarfed my shrimpy shadow of five foot four.
“The fish are everywhere!” I said exasperated.
“I told you they were. Let's get the worm on the hook.” He handed me the fishing pole and
opened the Styrofoam container. Carefully he punctured a worm from the box onto my hook, looping
and piercing the worm a couple more times for good measure. Taking a hold of my hand, he brought
me through the steps of casting.
“Relax your arm and remember that the cast is all in your wrist. Bring the pole back with the
thumb button depressed. Then, just release it and there is your cast.” He explained, assisting my arm
to create one fluid movement backward then forward. I released the button.
Not even a minute passed before my line started to pull. My father was quick to react.
“Now pull the pole up and toward your body while you reel in!” I could tell he was excited for
me. Pulling with all my might, I tried to reel in quickly. Out of the glittery agua splashed a wiggling
fish! My first catch. “There are a ton of bluegill here,” he says eying my slippery blue-gilled prisoner.
With an elated smile, my father worked the hook out of the poor fish's lip.
Although this memory took place not too long ago, it is one of my favorite. Growing up in such
a different time than him, relating can be a challenge. Many times, I am explaining how to use
Microsoft Office or as embarrassing as it sounds, how to send an email. This memory, however, is one
of the few examples where I had to rely on my father's years of knowledge on a topic he holds very