Things I did with my father

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When I was younger, my father was my playmate. He would take me fishing or out to gather walnuts or blackberries, target shooting, or to the club he was a member of. I often think he took me to the clubhouse to clean it, because even as a child I could spot a mess that needed to be cleaned.

Mostly though, I remember the days we spent fishing at the lake or river. Mom would pack a lunch and we'd spend the entire day sitting out there in the sun baking like clams. We were happy clams too. It was fun and there was a comfortable silence between the two of us. He and I are very much alike - quiet loners that don't have a lot to say.

Now that I'm a mom, I find myself doing some of those same things with our six-year old son, all except the target shooting that is. We go to the lake in the morning, I sit quietly on the bank listening to the frogs and the cicadas. I have our lunch packed for later, bologna or ham sandwiches with cheese.

My son stands not too far from me, hopping around, singing at the top of his lungs, gyrating to some awful tune that brings overwhelming sadness to my ears. I am momentarily distracted by this little human Slinky. I know the first song I ever taught him was "In the Pines" by Loretta Lynn. This song he is singing so far from "In the Pines" it is just not funny.

He settles down for a moment, and I again go back to watching my line and listening to the sounds of nature. This silence is not to last. He begins to throw rocks and sticks in the water. He then throws in some larger rocks. The fishing pole then becomes a water sword, which means the tip of the pole is down in the water digging up mud and flinging it all around. I sit quietly watching this show, whilst listening to the frogs and cicadas. I'm not too worried about not watching my line, because with every fiber of my being I know my child has scared off every fish within a 20 ft. radius, the fish are gone, all gone, and it's not even noon. He is having fun though, and that's all that matters to me. I'm sure the worms are thankful.

I think surely I started out this way when I was young. Surely my dad went through this exact same thing with me. My son turns and asks me why he's not catching any fish. I tell the boy to sing just a bit louder and dance harder, and maybe, just maybe, the vibrations will frighten some of 'em up on the bank. He does this and I laugh. I then tell him to sing a rock song, and maybe a rock bass will hop up on the bank, but he doesn't know any rock songs.

We never spend too long out fishing, but it's always fun. When the boy finally does catch a fish, thanks to his momma's quick eye and hand, his smile and shouts of joy are always a photo moment for me. I pull out the camera, take a picture and toss the fish back in.

It is all worth it just to be out there with him for a couple of hours. He is such a clown and the joy of my life. I want my son to grow up outdoors enjoying the same things I did, not sitting in front a TV playing video games. These are the kinds of things he will remember, and hopefully he'll pass them along to his kids.