A Father’s Day Fish Tale
My father lived in Michigan where I was born and raised. I have since moved away following my career and raising a family. I had been gone for nine years but my visits home would usually include pulling my Ranger the 600 miles home across Canada from New York to Michigan so Dad and I could go fishing.
Dad was not a serious fisherman by any means, but he truly enjoyed going fishing. It didn’t matter what we were fishing for or where we fished. He would always bring some coffee, sit back in the boat and simply enjoy the experience.
The last trip home I really debated pulling the boat since it was only a four-day visit. My wife didn’t want to bother with it, but for some reason I finally decided that I absolutely had to bring it.
The day we went fishing it was quite cool but the winds were calm and the fishing was okay. There was a very calming feeling in the boat. The lake was quiet and dad and I just fished without much conversation. I found myself watching him fish nearly as much as I fished. For some reason I was very intrigued by his attitude about fishing. Even when he would catch a fish, his calm demeanor would not change. It was no more or less exciting to catch a fish than it was to pour his next cup of coffee. I realized that day, that to him, “catching” was not nearly as important as the fishing.
We had a nice day on the water and the next day I hooked up the boat and returned to New York. Later that week, my father died of a heart attack very unexpectedly. I was devastated, but as I thought back to our last fishing trip, I realized that my dad lived his life just as he fished. It was the experience that mattered, not the results, the prizes or the recognition. He never wanted to be the center of attention; he just wanted to be included in the experience of life. I am so very glad that I had decided to take the boat home and fish with dad that trip. It was not just the last fishing trip we had together, it was a trip where my dad taught me his last lesson about life.
I snapped a picture of my dad on that trip. I had one shot left and, for some reason, I turned and took a picture of him. I keep it framed in my office not only to remind me of my dad, but of the lesson I learned on that very day.