You may have figured out by now that I am addicted to fishing. I wasn’t always like this. For most of my life, I was bookish and cared nothing for the outdoors. I learned to read before I started kindergarten and it just escalated from there. We will talk more about that later.

Like I said, I cared nothing for the outdoors. I just wasn’t built to be exposed to the elements. When I was a child in the 1970s, we never had cars with air conditioning. If it was above 85 degrees (which is most days in Jacksonville, FL) and we were going somewhere in the car, my mom would have to stop and take me in K-Mart to cool off. If we didn’t get to the air conditioning in time, I would get the dry heaves. When I got a bit older I realized my intolerance of the sun and heat is because I don’t sweat like the average human. I just get hot, turn red, and feel like I might die.

All of this is to say it is really weird that I risk sunburns almost every weekend just to go fishing… outdoors… in the boiling heat. The kind of heat that makes walking outside feel like walking into a convection oven. When the wind blows, it’s like God just turned on the biggest Conair blow dryer that ever existed. It is absolutely miserable. Yet somehow it becomes bearable as long as a fishing pole is involved.

My dad was always an avid fisherman. It was really the only hobby he ever had. He was always fishing with his dad or one of his friends. Until his dad and, one by one, his fishing friends all passed away. Gene, Randy, Martin… all gone. Dad was really left with nothing. He and my mom never developed a relationship where they spent time together. They actually spend more energy trying to not be in the same room together than anything. Sure, a lot of the way his life turned out is his fault. He has no filter, he is offensive in many ways, he can’t go too long without smoking a cigarette. By the time he turned 75, all he had was naps and sitting on the porch watching the birds while he rolled cigarettes.

Even though he isn’t fit to take out in public, he’s still my dad. I found myself feeling very sad for him and for the years of my life that had passed with no real connection to him. My mom has always been a different story. She likes to go everywhere and do everything. I always made sure she and I had fun vacations together, went shopping, or to the movies. But it was time to find some common ground with dad. If I didn’t, I knew he would be gone one day and I would always regret not spending time with him.

So, last year, in April, I asked him if he wanted to go fishing. It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. As it turned out, all I had to do was low-key threaten to not take him fishing anymore if he didn’t behave himself. Last Spring and Summer, we went fishing 3 or 4 days a week. Then I bought a boat, and it just got crazier from there. His friends always called him The Fishmaster because he was so good at it and now we have learned that I’m pretty good at it too! I only went fishing with him maybe 5 times in my life yet I realize how much I learned from him during those trips. I can set a hook like nobody’s business, putting bait on the hook, getting a catfish off the hook without getting stung – all from dad.

The whole situation is kind of bittersweet, though. He is in a lot of pain with arthritis and is just tired in general. There are lots of days he chooses not to go fishing just because it’s too much effort. I find myself thinking about how many places we could have gone, how many different types of fish we could’ve caught, if I had figured this out sooner. But you know what they say—better late than never, right?

When it comes down to it, and he sails away down the eternal lazy river, I hope this time we’ve spent together, waiting to see the tips of our rods move just the tiniest bit, will be enough to keep my regrets at bay.

Until next time… tight lines and happy minds!