He amazed me at how he could
untangle a net or tie a knot even the biggest fish could not compromise. The
water’s edge teased him with gentle splashes, urging him to slip the rope, pushing
the two of us to places where monsters lay waiting for the patient toss of the
bait. His hand was so gentle on the pole that he could feel every ridge of the sandy
bottom until the slightest ripple gave away the presence of scaly prey.
His bare shoulders, dark and
tan, bowed in perfect form, silhouetted against the sunrise—my father, the
angler, embattled with the tug of a monster.
"Here son", my
father offered, a smile as big as the distant horizon on his face. "You reel
him in." He passed the burdened rod to me. I was far too excited to insist
he do it, the excitement swelled in my legs as I stumbled over to his end of
the boat. Cautiously, I stepped over tackle boxes and paddles, in order to
position myself next to my grinning father. . No higher than his waist I stood
as he placed me between the gunnels and his towering frame. With one hand, I
reached for the corked end of the rod, and then another, all four of our hands
together worked in unison in order to subdue the frantic monster that steadily
pulled the line from the screaming reel.
“Time to tighten down the
drag, boy. Are you ready?”
I was not able to make a sound
come forth from my mouth. The euphoria of the fight had me and pulled at my
thoughts as hard as the fish. As I nodded my head in response, at that same
moment, an enormous splash broke loose my voice, the first of several "oh
my God!"
"Now that's a big trout
boy. Start taking the line back now," My father encouraged. He slowly, one
hand at a time, released the rod to me. The pull was more than I had bargained
for. My small frame and 75 pounds of fighting muscle went to work. Between me
and the trout—which my father said had to be at least 10 pounds—was a thin,
clear strand of hope that I prayed would hold.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Thank
you for giving me the greatest gift of my life. I love you.