The Memories We Make

The Memories We Make

 

            This time of year gets me itching to hit the water and catch bucket loads of fish. The bipolar mood swings of Mother Nature begin to start fading away and those warm rays of a new spring sun melt the ice in my veins and open up the rusty old memory box in my brain. This weekend I will be fishing a bass tournament with the Kentucky Pro Bass Warriors and I am so excited I can hardly stand myself. I feel like a kid again, when dad would slip into my room on them cool mornings, before the sun had even peeked over the horizon, to lightly kick the side of my bed and say, “Hey, you up?” Rarely did he really have to wake me. Most nights before I knew we were heading out bass fishing I could hardly sleep so I would wait into those early morning hours for my bedroom door to open and hear the floor creak as dad quietly tiptoed into the room. “Yep!” I would always whisper loudly and begin slipping on my clothes.

            It didn’t matter how old I got, the scenario was always played out the same. It was like Christmas in spring, just a boy waiting for his dad to take him on their next big fishing adventure. I relived this somewhat this past weekend with my boys. As some of you know, Dylan is my stepson but I claim the little turd as my own. He and Gunner, who will be three at the end of this month, met me at Lake Barkley here in Kentucky. The weather was perfect and the boys were excited to get out to the Lake.

“Dad?” Gunner shouted from the backseat of the truck.

“Yeah buddy.”
“Hey, you and bubby are going to catch big fish and I am going to catch a little one okay?” I looked in the mirror and smiled at the dirty faced little boy and just shook my head. His eyes were wild with excitement as he got his first glimpse of the lake. The same look I get when I look at the water, thinking of where all the fish could be hiding. Every cast that I make, no matter how tired I am, no matter how long I have gone without a bite, I always have a vision that there is a big ‘ol bass waiting in the exact spot I just casted and it keeps my heart young. Gunner has the same look and excitement for fishing as I do. It must be hereditary.

“I bet we catch a ten pounder!” Dylan said as his eyes grew wild too.

“I will be happy with one.” I said as I laughed at my two fishermen.

            Before I had kids of my own, I would watch dads along the banks of the lakes and rivers that I fished letting their kids throw rocks in the water or letting their kids play around the best parts of the water to fish and I would get so angry.

They claimed to call themselves fishermen and they allowed this?-Was usually a thought that raced through the red that floated in my head. After I grew older, wiser, and had children of my own I learned something about fishing that I had always overlooked. It wasn’t about the fish you were catching but the memories we were creating that always made my fishing trips the best. You cannot create memories if you restrict your children to fishing like adults. They are not adults. They are children with big dreams and wild imaginations and we have to fuel that with great fishing trips that involve more than just catching fish. I thought about this as I watched Gunner chuck rocks at a brush pile that I would normally be pitching a spinner bait through. My imaginary 20 pound bass that was waiting for my bait became spooked and shot out into deeper water where it would be safe from the projectiles hurled by this deranged toddler.

“Hey dad? Did you see that? I almost skipped it!” Gunner shouted.

“Yep. Good job buddy. You want to catch a fish now?” He placed his pointer finger on his chin as if he was in deep thought and finally said, “We need to tell Uncle Steve to come fishing with us.”

“We do? Why is that?”

“You don’t catch any fish dad. Uncle Steve catches fish.”

I had to laugh. You cannot argue with the honesty of a little boy. Growing up, there was little that my younger brother could beat me at. It wasn’t really because I was better than him; it was more that I was bigger and faster than he was. The one place where we always had an even playing field though was in the woods and on the lakes. He was always better at hunting than me and still is, but normally the lakes and rivers were my place to shine. It did not stop us from competing every time we hit the water or woods and it still continues today.

      Gunner's first bass that he caught all by himself a year ago. He was barely two  years old!
 

 

The boys spent a total of about 15 minutes with their lines in the water and the rest of our time we walked the banks and found shells and rocks. The boys asked a million questions about fish, alligators, UFO’s, and zombies. We watched geese and other birds that flew along the lake as we slowly made our way along on our little adventure. As we walked Gunner grabbed my pants leg and hugged my leg almost causing me to fall onto the gravel bank.

“What are you doing crazy?” I said laughing.

The little boy looked up at me with his shiny blue eyes and said, “This is fun. I love you dad.”

In those words, that look that my little boy gave me, I realized that I may not have ever told my dad how much it meant to me for him to take us fishing. As soon as I was old enough to not crap my pants dad was taking me fishing. And even in my failing memory, I can remember every trip that we ever took. Every fish that we caught, all the tips and tricks that he taught me on how to catch bass and catfish, but most of all, how to love the outdoors and share that experience with others. I can’t leave mom out of these memories either. While dad was at work, my brother and I would spend our time in the yard practicing our casting and more than once mom would have to help pull a hook out of one of us or untangle line from a tree limb. I always wondered how dad handled having two little boys in a boat with him, hooking each other and him, getting stuck in trees, and spending more time trying to catch the little perch rather than fish for the big catfish and bass he was going for, but I know now. It was for the memories. It was the love of a fisherman to share his love with his sons. It was that one time that a little boy smiles and says, “This is fun. I love you dad.”

It makes it all worth it.

It is always fun dad. I love you.
 (Hey dad! Look I made you famous and put you on the internet with a bass! Hahaha)
Picture used with permission of Uncle Steve.