Gone Fishing | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Gone Fishing | Previous Challenge Entry
By Aaron Griffith
02/19/07
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“He was a great man, son, one of the best.“ Staring into the eyes of the weathered old man, and gripping his feeble hand I said, “Thank you sir.“ He nodded his head in approval and hobbled away. He was one of many that had come to pay their last respects to my Grandfather. He was an honorable man, steadfast and courageous. He wasn’t one for words, but when he spoke everyone listened. He worked hard his entire life to provide for his children and he sacrificed much in doing so. He loved His God and his great country for which he had shed his blood on foreign soil not once, but twice. He loved to fish and the Cincinnati Reds and he believed that forgiveness was possible, even for Pete Rose. The way that he loved his wife was rare and profound lasting five decades until the day she breathed her last breath, at his side, a few years back. That was the day that I began to resent the man I had always longed to be.

After she died, my Grandfather changed. He became introverted and distant, like his mind was off in some memory of a life long past. He spent his days alone in his study or out fishing in that second-hand boat of his. He’d be out on that lake for hours at a time, never catching anything. Everyday was the same, he’d say goodbye then take that beat up old tackle box and pole and start down the path that led from his place to the lake. I became so angry with him. For years he had been my source of strength during the catastrophes of life. Now, when I needed him most, he was gone. One night I waited for him to come home and I unleashed my grief and frustration out on him in a barrage of furious words. Tears filled his eyes as I told him I hated him. I slammed the door and walked out of his life.

Sitting in the driveway of my Grandfathers, now vacant, house, I thought of that day I had left years ago. I got out of my car and started to walk around his land. I thought about the life of the man I had just buried as I walked down the overgrown path that led from his house to the lake. As I reached the lake, I noticed his old boat sitting there in the brush. His pole and old beaten up tackle box were already there in the boat as if they were waiting for someone. I sat down in the boat and opened the old box. Tears filled my eyes as I saw there were more than just hooks and lures housed inside. Resting on top of brightly colored worms was a Bible and what looked to be a journal of some sort. The Bible was old and felt like it could fall apart at any moment. I took it out, and carefully opened it. On the inside cover was written, in feminine script, these faded words, “To the love of my life, Study these pages for somewhere within, you will find the way to hold me again.“ Every page of the sacred book was covered in cryptic notes. I had no idea that my Grandfather owned a Bible, let alone studied it so intensely. I placed it aside and picked up the journal. It read as a virtual chronology of the tragedies of my life. My jaw dropped as I read through the book’s tear stained pages. There were heart-wrenching prayers for my salvation along with prayers begging God to intercede in my parents broken marriage. I came to a page filled with prayers of desperate mourning at the loss of a great grandchild, the child my wife had miscarried that year. I closed the book and held it to my chest as I exploded into tears. I realized that this place was not my Grandfathers escape from life. He had never come here to fish. He came here, to this sanctuary, to meet with God on behalf of his family.

I have two daughters now that love to fish. We talk of life and love and of the man that taught me what it means to truly love your family. We spend hours out on that lake and we almost always never catch a thing.

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