My thoughts on Father’s Day are not the typical ones where the father introduced his son to the outdoors. My earliest remembrances of him were his love of baseball, watching the games across the street from where we lived. On weekends he spent a lot of time in his woodworking shop in the garage or tinkering around in our yard.
During my preteen years someone, I don’t remember who, gave me a stack of Field & Stream, Outdoor Life and Sports Afield magazines. I was enthralled by the stories of fishing and hunting. I wanted to spend time fishing and hunting. I spent hours devouring stories about fishing and hunting in such places as Michigan and Minnesota. I grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio.
Another thing that kept me from fishing was that my parents did not own a car. Everywhere we went we either walked or used public transportation.
I got into fishing when I found a small “Pay Lake” within a couple miles from my home. You paid a small fee, a dollar and two, and wet your line. I spent my summers and weekends hooking up my fishing rods, tackle box and minnow bucket off my bike’s handlebars and riding off to Dream Valley, name of the lake, learning how to fish for catfish.
I got my father into fishing. He knew how much I loved it. I can remember him cleaning my first catfish that I caught, neither one of us knew what we were doing…blood and entrails all over the board we were using.
I finally talked him into going fishing with me, walking the couple of miles to Dream Valley where I taught him how to catch catfish. I remember the walk home after a successful day on the water, him and me sharing the load of carrying the fishing tackle and me carrying a stringer of catfish, passerby’s admiring our fish.
What’s your favorite story of your father on this Father’s Day?
