Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Gone Fishing (02/01/07)
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TITLE: Gone Fishing (iii) | Previous Challenge Entry
By Lillian Jacobs
02/06/07 -
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He had been a very independent man; the ultimate outdoorsman - an archer and a fisherman. That was his first love and his passion, the outdoors and especiallly fishing; the only place and time where he was ever truly himself. Being the youngest, I was able to go with him on many fishing trips, especially after no one else would.
He taught me how to fish. He was so proud of his little tomboy daughter who could cast like a pro. He’d call his friends over and boast, “Take a look at this!” and I would dutifully show my prowess. That was the only time we truly connected. I went fishing more to be with him than anything else; to have some type of relationship with him.
At home he was aloof and withdrawn; a tense, henpecked husband. A quiet man behind his paper who never had the time of day and only spoke to me when he was angry and yelling, accusing me of something I did or did not do. Didn’t matter, I was the scapegoat. I would come scurrying and try to solve the problem; anything to make the yelling stop.
In quieter times, I would try to gain his attention.
“Can you play cards Dad?”
“No, not right now, maybe later.”
“Okay.” I would say quietly, hiding my disappointment.
But once we began the drive away from town, his tense grip on the steering wheel would loosen. He would talk with me and share the lessons he had learned from life outdoors. He was a good man at these times and my love for him would swell. He was my father, this strong man. He was there. His laugh was infectious and I would laugh too; the ordeals of home forgotten. He was so patient while fishing as well. I often wished the trips would never end. Driving home, the father I loved would disappear and we would be back to our normal silent distance.
As I got older, I tried to ditch my tomboy image and declined the invitations to fish. That first time I said no, I saw something die in his eyes. I know it hurt him, but I had my reasons I kept telling myself. I had to find myself. But now as I came to see him each time, I wished that I had kept it up.
Congestive heart failure slowed my father down and eventually, he had to hang up his poles. He began to deteriorate quickly once he could no longer go fishing. He was never the same after that and then his mind began to fail. Slowly at first, then like a dam failing; he was gone.
That last time I saw him, it was much the same. He stared out the window or down at the floor. He fought with my mother over nothings. In the end, he just sat, staring out the window. I went up to him and whispered in his ear.
“Have you gone fishing Dad?”
He looked up at me and was there for a moment. “Yes, it's beautiful here. Can you come?”
“Sure Dad”, I said. “Let me just take the kids home and then I will meet you. Where will you be?”
“I’ll be at that bend in the river, you know, the one with that quiet pond, where the big trout hide. I love it there. I’ll be waiting for you.” He patted my hand, “ I’ll have your pole waiting for you. I’ve kept all your stuff ready to go all these years.”
I said okay and turned to leave. He returned to staring blankly out the window. I looked back and said goodbye. I whispered softly, “I will come this time Dad. I’ll meet you there someday, by that bend in the river. I remember the spot. Wait for me there, okay?”
He didn’t answer. He just kept staring out the window. He didn’t even turn to look at me. I knew he was gone this time; he’d left and gone fishing one last time.
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