This story is written by the father but told from the son’s point of view. It’s based on a true event.
Fishing by Duke Pasquini
When I was eleven or twelve, my father and I fished a beautiful stream that was cupped in the hands of a small canyon. It flowed out of the mouth of the earth cold as melted snow.
A small trail followed the banks over stumps of tree trunks and large rocks. You could hear the relaxed flow of water over the moss covered rock and smell the sweet scent of Mountain Misery. We fished the half mile before the stream fell from the cliff that formed Burney Falls. This was where my Dad and I clung to our beliefs like the moss to the rock.
My father told me, “If you want to catch fish, you need to wade into the stream where the fish are. Only timid fisherman with empty hooks fish from the bank.”
I ignored him and hung onto the bank as my father ventured into the cold water.
Then he started catching one fish right after another.
I knew it was just luck. I knew getting out in the cold water could only scare the fish. So I continued fishing from the bank while my father continued his fishing orgy. Every time he caught one, he held it up– and yelled to me. Then he threw it back.
I caught one or two– and kept them as proof.
Before we knew it, it was dark in the canyon. My father motioned for me to leave and we were soon in the car headed home. I just knew he was going talk about all the fish he’d caught.
“You’ve got to wade out into the water. You can’t catch fish from the bank,” he said.
“I caught a few, maybe not as many as you, but I caught a few,” I said
“You’re just afraid to get wet and stand in the cold water!”
“You’re never satisfied with anything I do!” I said.
“I didn’t say that,” he said.
“Yes you did. You told me I was afraid, and I’m not afraid!”
“No– you’re not afraid of drowning. You’re afraid of getting wet and being cold.”
“No I’m not!” I said.
“Yes you are!”
“I’m not!”
“So why didn’t you go out into the water?” he said.
“The water’s too cold.”
“Do you want to catch fish?”
“Yes,” I said
“Did you catch very many today?”
“No,”
“Did I catch a lot today?”
“Yes,” I said.
“So if you want to catch more fish, what do you have to do?”
“Wade out into the water where the fish are–I guess?”
“Do you think you can handle the cold water?” he asked.
“I suppose,” I said.
“Do you think the rewards are worth the sacrifice?”
“I guess,”
“You guess? You mean you’re not sure?” he said.
“Can’t I just fish the way I want. What difference does it make to you?” I yelled.
“It doesn’t make any difference to me,” he said.
“So why are you on my case?”
“Why do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. That’s your answer for everything.” He said. “I want an answer!”
“I don’t have an answer. I don’t know! What do you want me to say? You’re never satisfied.”
He responded with silence and looked straight ahead at the road.
I leaned my head against the car window looking out at the passing trees. I wanted to tell him I hated him, but remained silent.
He turned to me and broke the silence with a simple, “Well?”
I stared straight ahead.
“Well, what?” I asked.
“Why do you think I’m on your case?”
“I told you I don’t know,” I said.
“But you do know!”
“How can you know? You’re not me. You’re not God.”
“Are you sure?” he said as he glanced at the road with a smile. “I was a kid once you know.”
“No you weren’t!”
“Well, I was.”
He paused. “Anyway, I caught a lot of fish today didn’t I?”
“Yea”
“You weren’t catching any, right?”
“I caught a couple. I have them to prove it.”
“Yea, you did catch a couple.” he said with a slight hint of approval. “Would you have liked to have caught more?”
“Yea”
“So why do you think I’ve been on your case?” he asked
“You want to see me catch more fish I guess.”
“RIGHT!” he said with a smile. “See, you do know the answer!”.
In the years that followed I waded into the water and ignored the cold. My father is now in his 60’s. We recently fished the same stream we’d fished so many years ago. He hugged the bank–afraid to get wet and cold. He caught one and I caught seven.
