Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

First Day Fishing

By Breed

All summer, our six-year-old son had been begging his dad to take

him

on his first fishing trip. Tomorrow was the big day, but now Ron had to

work

and the day was ruined. I could see the disappointment in our son's eyes.

Choking back the tears, he turned to walk away.

" Wait a minute, " I heard myself say. " Can I take you fishing? "

" Well, uh, okay, Mom, " he answered as if he wasn't sure he'd heard me

correctly.

" We'll get up at five o'clock in the morning. Is that all right? "

" Sure, " he said with a smile quickly replacing his tears.

I should have thought it through more clearly before I had spoken; I

hadn't

been fishing before either.

The alarm buzzed at 5 a.m. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been

up

that early. After eating a quick bowl of cereal, we hoisted the ice chest

into

the car. It was loaded with sandwiches, lots of drinks and plenty of ice to

pack all the fish we were going to catch. With a list of things we needed,

we

headed for the nearest bait and tackle shop to buy a pole, line, hooks and

some

worms. Then we were off to the lake.

It was a typical August morning with the sun already scorching. We

trudged

along the rocky shore carrying our gear and finally settled under a

" wannabe "

tree. I explained to that a wannabe tree is a want-to-be tree,

because

the trees here in Arizona don't grow very big due to the extreme heat and

lack

of rain. He agreed that the small amount of shade was better than none at

all.

I attached the line to the pole and secured the hook with a knot that

would

have held Moby Dick.

I was dreading the next step.

" Mom, can you put a worm on my hook for me? "

" Okay, but you'd better learn quick. This is my first and last time. "

All right, I can do this, I thought as I scrunched my eyes shut and

quickly

grabbed the first worm that unwittingly wriggled between my thumb and

forefinger. The next chore was putting the worm on the hook. I didn't know

worms came in different sizes; this one was really skinny. stood

back,

partly because of the look on my face and partly because it amazed him that

I'd

even dare touch a worm. must have been reading my mind as I wondered

how

this worm was going to stay on the hook.

" It doesn't want to stay on the hook, " he murmured as the worm kept

falling

off.

Suddenly, quite by accident, I stabbed the worm. There it hung

mortally

wounded and writhing in pain. " Quick, throw the line into the water! " I

screamed. There was no way that was going to be able to skewer these

skinny worms onto a hook without hooking himself. The realization that I

was

going to have to put the rest of these wriggling, slimy little crawlers on

the

hook for didn't thrill me, but I soon became quite the expert at

" accidentally " attaching worms to the hook.

Three hours later and with three small bluegill neatly lined up in the

corner of our ice chest, we decided to head for home. The fish had given up

trying to make a meal from our " slim " offerings, and the glaring sun had

sent

them for deeper, cooler water.

Ron was still at work when we arrived home. I was relieved because I

was

sweaty, smelled of fish, and our meager catch didn't qualify for bragging

rights.

" Mom, are we gonna cook 'em? "

" I suppose we could, " I grimaced. The thought hadn't even entered my

mind.

The fish were so puny that we'd be lucky to get more than two small bites

out of

each one. Nevertheless, I popped them into the pan, and within minutes they

were ready to eat. I put all three fish on Chris' plate.

" No, you get one too, Mom, " he insisted.

My plan hadn't worked; I was going to have to eat one. took the

first bite and didn't spit it out, so I tried a bite too. It tasted just

like

the fishy lake water, but I forced it down. Ron walked in just as I was

taking

my last bite.

" Well, how was your trip? " he asked.

began talking before I could swallow my last mouthful.

" It was great, Dad! The water was so clear and smooth, and the sky was

really blue. There were no boats when we first got there so it was real

quiet.

We could hear the birds singing. Mom and I sat on a rock and watched a duck

swim and make a trail in the water. It was really fun and Mom was the

best! "

He then told Ron all about wannabe trees. When he had finished talking,

Chris

turned and hugged me.

Was the sky that blue? What singing birds? And I hadn't even seen the

duck. I had been too engrossed putting the worms on the hook to appreciate

the

beauty, but had taken it all in.

" Thanks, Mom. Let's go back to our wannabe spot again real soon, " he

said,

his eyes sparkling.

How could I refuse his irresistible offer?

" Yes, we'll go again soon. "