Given the choice to go fishing or to do something else, I’ll generally choose the ‘do something else’ option. It’s not that I don’t like to fish, it’s just not usually something I get excited about. Probably because I don’t like bugs and handling bait. Though I can bait, and have baited my own hook, thank you very much.
But I do have fishing memories. Most of them involve my dad. When I was little, I remember him taking me fishing while my sister was home, afflicted with chicken pox. I think my mother may have been trying to quarantine her, or, more than likely, she was trying to get me out of her hair while she tended to my sister. Knowing what I was like as a child, she probably TOLD me it would be best to keep me and my sister separated, to maybe spare me from the plague, but in reality, she probably just wanted to get me out of the house so my sister could rest! Either way her little ploy didn’t work because I DID get the chicken pox and before I did, I’m sure I aggravated my sister as much as I did when she was 100% healthy. Hey, I’m a kid sister, it’s what I do.
One of my other fishing memories involved something that my family has NEVER, EVER let me forget. I remember it, but barely. I must have been 3, maybe 4 years old? My dad, mom, sister and I were all at the lake. I remember the minnow bait being in a little metal bucket that had holes in the top. Apparently, at some point in our day of water recreation, I got very, VERY thirsty. I wandered over to the bait bucket and turnt it UP, gulping down the fishy water and then setting it down, only to find myself completely perplexed at why my family was looking at me like I had lost my mind. I still remember the smell of that minnow water, but I can also remember how thirsty I was. I don’t remember anything else besides than the actual thirst, the drinking of the water, and how much my family laughed at me for it that day, and for YEARS afterwards.
Interestingly enough, when I think of fishing, I think of my first husband. He loved to fish and dragged me along with him as often as he could. Sometimes, when you’re divorced, it’s easier to just say everything about that former marriage was bad, it all sucked, and chalk it all up to a huge lapse in judgment. But not everything was bad. There were many, many good times too. When I look back on those memories of fishing with him, I have to laugh. I mostly hated every minute of it. He liked to go fishing for catfish at night, in the sweltering summer heat. There would be more flying bugs and pesky mosquitos than you could shake a stick at, and BATS, dear god at the bats! But other times, we’d rent one of the little boats out at one of the local lakes and he would fish, and I would read. He was happy to have company, and I was happy to make him happy and to read some trashy Cosmo or People magazine fluff. It’s taken me many years to get to the point where I can appreciate some of those better memories.
When Reagan and I decided to try this little 30 day blogging challenge, I knew that the goal is not just to tell a story, but to take the basic idea and do something interesting, different, fun with it. Bring your own unique perspective. I find it kind of amusing that something like “A fishing story” can take me back so far into my childhood, and also uncover some buried, pleasant memories that I have of my ex-husband. It will be interesting to see what other ideas these blog titles inspire in both myself and my daughter.
Thanks Stephenee! Hope you enjoyed!