Her Personal Best

hen Gabi exited the car, I knew something wonderful had happened. Her face was literally glowing with excitement. Her dark eyes danced as she approached me and her smile ... Ah, that smile.

"Guess what, Grandma!"

"Let's see ... An alien landed on your hat. No? Hmm ... Oh, I got it! You raced a jaguar on the way home. Or maybe, let's see ... You rode on an elephant while you were at Toby's house!"

Laughter greeted my silliness. Gabi and I love this game. It's a daily treat for both of us.

"Toby doesn't have elephants at his house," she said, "and they don't live in water, anyway! We went to the lake with him. I caught two things while we were fishing!" She accentuated the words 'two' and 'things'. She held her fingers up to make sure I got that it was 'two' and not just one.

"It's a personal best!" I lifted her from the ground and we spun in a couple of circles on the front lawn before I set her back down to tell me the story.

My own personal best in fishing had been ... thirty years ago? No! Thirty five. Wow ...

I had never fished, but I married a fisherman. From the first days of our dating life, he'd talked about going deep-sea fishing with his dad as a boy. He'd get that same excited look Gabi had when he spoke about it , even though there was no little Gabi in our lives at the time. So when he suggested we go on a fishing trip for our first anniverary, I was all in. It may not have been my thing, but it was something that would give him the greatest joy and that was my thing, for sure.

The boat we rented was big -- I'd been in dorm rooms smaller. It had an upper deck and a lower one, complete with a small kitchen and double bed. We got it for a steal because it had been in the mechanics shop while all the captain's competitors were shaking hands and taking cash that morning. We agreed to the price for eight hours on the Texas Gulf Coast and my husband, the Captain and first mate and I loaded up for the day.

Seasickness, which plagued me for the first half hour away from the dock, faded with the sight of land and I began to relax. I love the ocean, so when nothing took the bait on my enormous pole, I wasn't concerned.The Gulf was opening its heart to my husband, and his harvest was great. Steve was catching pretty regularly, and his excitement was enough for me. Besides, I watched the waves, the dark blues of the water, the gulls screeching ovverhead and I was completely content.

And then ...

My pole bent almost double and line began to whiz out with the speed of springtime lightening. I felt my eyebrows raise up to my hairline as I tried to figure out what to do.

"Leave it for a minute or two," the captain advised. "Let him run some energy out and then you can engage."

I got strapped into the seat I noticed was bolted to the deck. "Maybe you ought to--" I told my honey.

"NO!" he said, almost jumping up and down with anticipation. "This'll be your first big catch! You want this experience, Deb. YOu'll never forget it!"

And then the captain put the pole into my hands. He gave me instructions, speaking quickly and in the low, mellow accent of south Texas. The first mate steered the boat, although I didn't understand why we were moving at all. The fish was flying through the water, leaving a tiny jet stream created by the fishing line everywhere he went.

"Reel now!" the captain yelled.

It was such a drastic change from the directions he'd been giving that it startled me, but I took the reel in my hands and began to wind. And wind. And wind. Where is this fish going? I wondered.

It jerked me forward and I was suddenly grateful for the chair restraints. Even with them, the fish pulled me into the side of the boat. My knobby knees slammed into the hard hull and I yelped.

And reeled.

I alternated between trying to land the unknown water creature and allowing it to run line. I had no concept of time, except that the sun, which had been directly above us, had shifted to the left side of my face. And still I reeled and relaxed, hoping the fish would wear itself down.

Two or three times, I remember begging one of the three men on the deck to take the pole. They all refused. I needed that experience, they all assured me.

And finally, like the longest labor in the world produces a baby, my efforts landed a fish.

No, that's not right.

I landed a shark!

"A black-tip!" the mate yelled as the fish tried to snap our feet off the bottoms of our legs. "That there's good eatin'!"

Shark landed, I passed my pole to my husband, went to the lower deck, landed myself on the bed and passed out, exhausted.

The memory faded and I smiled down at my granddaughter, memories dancing through my brain. "I'm proud of you, my little nugget! What did you catch?"

Gabi smiled brightly. "First," she bragged, "I caught Toby but it didn't hurt him at all. Then I caught a stick! and you know what's weird, Grandma?"

"No, darling. What's weird?"

She made a face. "Fish drink where they pee!" And she walked away.

I had to laugh, but at least I managed to wait until she made it inside and closed the door behind her.