Going Fishing

There it is: the bright orange tackle box. Full to the seams with hooks, weights, and all manner of crazy looking lures-- that gift from me, nearly two years ago now, has become the signal. He is going fishing.

Fishing. It is never something that I would have imagined becoming a large part of my life, but when we embrace our significant others, we embrace their passions too. In Joey’s case however, passion is far too weak of a word. Fishing is his obsession.

There is little that will drag me out of bed at 5 o’clock in the morning past the necessity of work or school, but for Joey, 5 o’clock is a great time to get ready for morning fishing. That is when “the top-water bites are good” or something like that.

Every day that he goes to the water is “the day.” He is going to catch his monster of a bass. Just the thought of reeling in a ten-pound bass puts a big grin on his face, but all beware the moment that big one gets away. If someone has never seen a docile man go berserk, then they have never seen a fisherman lose his fish. When that fish gives a final leap out of the water and twitches just the right way to throw off the hook that was so hopefully set, suddenly, any laid-back, goofy guy is smitten with the wrath of a thousand gods. All reason flees from his mind, and sometimes they even jump in the lake after the fish.

I have watched Joey fight against the overwhelming urge to throw his fishing rod into the lake, and I cannot remember how many times he has sworn off fishing. “I’m done for real this time” he will tell me after a day without luck, but he is not done. He never is. Something about the water calls to him, and that man who just swore to never fish again comes home after work with a bag full of new baits.

We go fishing together on occasion, and sometimes our children come as well. During those adventures with our little ones in tow, I am fortunate to witness a man who is patient enough to tie on hooks, put on worms, cast out lines secured with bobbers, and answer a relentless swarm of questions only a 5-year-old and an 8-year-old could concoct. He can detangle bird-nested fishing line, and get a hook out of any fish, and even when the little ones become restless, I will still catch him smiling because he has everything he loves around him: his family, water, and fishing.

I will not pretend to understand his love of fishing, but I will respect it. It is his thing, and I have my things. I think it is a beautiful thing for people to have passions or obsessions for them to turn to when the day has been long, and the stress is high. If fishing is his therapy, then so be it. I wish him all the luck in the world, and I will even tag along from time to time. However, no one will catch me diving in after a fish. No matter how big.