Fishing Lessons

I sat in the fishing boat, feeling it list as my Dad busied himself by digging through his bait box, muttering about useless lures as he freed the small tin filled with worms from the tangle of various hooks, lead lines and lures jumbled in the bottom. I shivered from the cool damp early morning breeze that rippled across the top of the water and through my tussled shock of hair. He didn't seem to notice as he grunted with the satisfaction of selecting a worm to sacrifice on the hook to what he hoped would be a large trout.

He scowled and tossed the tin at me. "That hook ain't gonna bait itself!"

His gravelly voice cut through me as it rode across the surface of the pond and I envisioned all the fish swimming to the deepest depths to shield themselves, and I wished I could join them. I was eleven years old and I had already developed an unhealthy fear of my dad. I hurriedly pulled a worm from the can and baited the hook while he watched, then cast my line out into the pond. He threw his out in the opposite direction, pushed his ball cap back onto the crown of his head and reached for a beer.

I was thankful he only drank beer when he decided we were going fishing. At home he spent most days taking long swigs off a bottle of cheap rum, and the drunker he got the nastier the comments. My mother rarely spoke, but spent most of her time puttering around the kitchen, cleaning the house, or knitting. I spent the better part of my childhood trying not to get noticed, walking on eggshells around the house or sitting alone in my room.

He cracked the can open and tipped it up, a small trickle of beer escaping to dribble down the side of his scruffy chin. He held the can out in my direction as he wiped his face with his sleeve.

"Want some?" He half smiled, showing his stubby, tobacco-stained teeth, his eyes glittering with something between joy and malice. I shook my head, pretending to check my line so I didn't have to look at him. He shrugged and tipped the can to his lips a second time.

The wind started to pick up and the boat started to rock to the tempo of the growing waves. Dad turned a concerned eye to the sky and the quickly approaching bank of dark clouds.

"Bring your line in" he roared as he grabbed his own pole and started reeling. "We gotta get off the water!"

I pulled my line in and dropped the pole to the bottom of the boat as he passed an oar to me. "Row!" he screamed as he dipped his own oar deep in the water. I clumsily followed his lead and the boat lurched forward. A big gust of wing came in and shoved the boat sideways as a torrent of rain started to fall, instantly drenching us. I rowed wildly, squinting my eyes to try to see through the falling rain. I could barely make out Dad sitting in front of me, rowing for all he was worth.

Another gust of wind hit the boat and it rolled amost 90 degrees while I was leaning into an oar stroke, and I felt my legs leave the boat. I hit the water in a full panic and started to trash and scream. "God Damn it!" I heard my dad's voice cut through the wind as his big hand latched onto my collar and he started to lift me out of the water. The boat was tossed by another wave and my Dad crashed into the water next to me. The boat flipped and came down on top of him, the edge of the sidewall making a dull thud as it hit the top of his head. His grip loosened as he started to slip under water.

I grabbed the shoulders of his shirt and turned him over, screaming for help. I could see the edge of the pond about a hundred feet away and pulled with all I had to get him to shore. After what seemed like forever, I felt my foot touch bottom. I was able to drag him up to the shore, where I laid with him in the water, and cradling his bloody head, I began to cry. He muttered something, and I leaned in close to hear him.

"Fucking sissy, stop crying" he chuckled as he reached up and slapped my shoulder. We waited for the storm to pass, retrieved to boat and decided to call it a day. We didn't talk much on the way home, but the tension between us was gone. Mom didn't say anything when we got home, just washed the cut on his head and bandaged it.

Dad stopped drinking after that day, and for the next few years we got to know each other pretty well. He eventually passed away from a heart attack, and I was thankful that I got to know him the way I did. Someday, I'll be able to tell my own kids that story and hopefully pass the lessons I learned along to them.