Sunday Musings: Memories of Fishing with my Dad

My father passed away when I was 18 years old. 

I remember him mostly as a fairly distant and intimidating man with a volcanic temper, and as someone I didn't spend a whole lot of time with. Family lore has it that he really didn't like children very much, and the fact that I was rarely allowed to have friends over when he was home lends an element of truth to this particular "legend." In retrospect, I think his feelings might have been a reflection of the fact that he was "older" (42) when I was born. 

My parents divorced when I was eleven, and I went to live with my mom. Oddly enough, I actually got to know my father a lot better after the divorce. They continued to be "somewhat friends," and "our" house was just a 10-minute bicycle ride from "his" house.

Even so, it felt like our time together somehow "mattered" more than it had before.

We didn't have a lot in common, my father and I. I was a softspoken and generally solitary boy and this forceful larger-than-life man made me feel uneasy, but one place we did connect was while fishing. My father was the product of a very old-fashioned and rather strict family, and fishing has been one of his own very few "escapes" from an otherwise confining life.

During the summer and fall months we'd head out early in the morning to a large lake about 30 minutes from where I lived with my mom. We'd rent a row boat for the day and slowly make our way up the lakeshore towards an area where a storm had blown over some tall trees on the shoreline, and they had fallen into the water. My dad would secure the boat to an exposed branch and we'd spend several hours there, casting between the fallen logs. Our desired catch: Pike and Perch.

Whereas catching fish was certainly exciting-- and we often did-- these fishing trips were as much about connecting as they were about fishing. 

Somehow it felt like the setting enabled my dad to relax and become more like a real human being. We'd talk about school (and not just my grades!) and my hobbies and what I was "into." He'd talk about his work; about inventing things at the factory and of his dislike of having to work with his older brother in the family business; he'd share his dreams of retiring to a life of restoring antiques and gardening.

I remember I really wished that to come true for him. Perhaps it was selfish, attached to my own hopes that he would be "nicer" when he retired. 

Sometimes we'd talk about movies-- my dad was a big fan of James Bond and other spy-vs-spy type films.

In winter, we'd leave behind the pike and perch, and instead head out on the nearby sound to fish for cod. The venue and fish might have been different, but the overall "feel" and connection we experienced during these trips were the same as during our summer outings.

Overall, I don't have very many fond memories from my childhood, and fewer still that left me feeling close to my dad-- except for our fishing trips together. 

Nearly 40 years have passed since my dad died, but I can still hear the sound of the oars as he would row our boat; the sound of a fish jumping in the shallows... and his voice-- uncharacteristically calm and friendly-- talking about the stuff of life.

How about YOU? Do you have any particularly fond memories of childhood and youth? Were you close to your parents?

(As per usual, all images and text are my own, unless otherwise credited-- original content created specifically for Steemit)