A few days ago, my son Cole and I went fishing for the first time. Few traditions between father and son are more revered than the boy’s first attempt at providing sustenance. It has been a historic rite of passage for generations of sons who while staring tentatively yet bravely into the institution of manhood, relinquish the insulation of childhood and boldly transform, fishing pole in hand, from dependent to provider.
Rising early is the mark of a good outdoorsman
~Unknown~
Cole was up, dressed, and waiting by the truck by six in the morning. He had gathered the tackle, both of our fishing rods, along with his fishing hat and sunglasses, and a suitable snack to take the edge off. We had decided that we would make a warm stack of flapjacks upon returning from our expedition and they would be enjoyed over an exciting recap of our adventure. That, we smugly estimated, would be about when his sisters would be rolling out of bed. He was laughing out loud about that one as we pulled out of the driveway.
Our fishing spot wasn’t far away, and traffic was light, so we were there long before the bait shop opened. We had our choice of parking spots. With time to kill, we figured a quick recon of the area would provide helpful clues about where we should set up. We were meeting a friend who had offered to show us the ropes. I had never fished in salt water so I was grateful for his offer. He pulled up and parked and we shot the breeze for a few minutes until the bait shop opened. Shortly after, and toting a fresh bucket of shrimp bait, we made our way to the spot he said would not disappoint.
I would have liked to regale you with an armful of fishing stories complete with a library of catches so big we couldn’t hold them, but I can’t lie. I did manage to feed a good amount of our bait to the local marine life but failed to land a single fish.
Our friend caught a few and once when he had one hooked, he gave the rod to Cole and let him reel it in, which he did expertly. Cole was quiet, but his smile said all that needed to be said.
We cast our lines and talked about nothing. We just spent time together, father and son, and it was perfect. As the sun rose and warmed the day, we packed up our gear and headed home with plans to come back again very soon.
Cole and I are a little closer now. We have something special that is just between us guys. And while he is a five-year-old little boy, he really isn’t anymore, for a time at least, because he is a fisherman now, just like his dad.
