I respected Harry Truman as a man. He took Bess fishing and sat the in back of a boat reading a history book while she patiently went through the process of catching fish or at least trying. I grew up with fishermen who talked about the trip before, during, and afterward. My joy was to be included. Daddy built his own wooden boat in our back yard from lines and measurements he put on a sheet of notebook paper. It had a broad stern with a cut place to hold the 1 1/2 power Johnson & Johnson motor, a water well to keep our catch, and a bow with a seat and a mooring rope. Mother didn’t like him to go out alone, yet she disliked water. At age 5, I put on a life jacket and became the delighted designated accompanier.
Every trip was educational. At first I learned patience or at least endurance. Once we were out, we were there until fish quit biting, or just weren’t biting, or Daddy said, “That’s enough for the day.” I learned skills needed for the task. To set a hook after a nibble requires the perfect flick of the wrist. Too much and you pull it out. Too little and the fish spits it out and moves on. I learned to judge what i couldn’t see. A stick from the bottom feels different from a fish playing dead weight while preparing for his next move. One high point in my life is carefully playing a flounder to the surface and into the boat
I progressed in my skills I was never much at casting, so I was taught to paddle the boat while Daddy did the casting. That required moving forward slowly close to the bank under branches, reversing if necessary, and never ever hitting the boat with the paddle. When a big mouth bass with a mouth large enough to hold a tea cup was the catch, I was commended for helping it happen. As a 21 year old, I was the adult to go out with two younger cousins. I couldn’t run the motor or discern the turns in the bayou. I got to fish with the rest and watch sky and time to make the Head In call. Sometimes, just age counts.
One line lessons were character building. “Clean what you catch.” “Don’t cross someone else’s line,” Watch where your waves go.” At the end of the day, or the month, or the year, the retelling brought back a time on the water. One one trip, my daddy caught an uncle’s hat with a backwards cast and threw it into the lake. I can still hear the deep laughter of an uncle teasing my dad with that story. The young man who married me said he wanted to talk to my dad about his daughter. The answer,” Well, let’s go. I have some fish to deliver.” Important things come first.
Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” John 21: 3
Let Me Tell Ya 