My Dad’s Fish Story
Image by Clarence Latata
“Fish stories are usually about the big one that got away. The teller would spread his arms out to his sides as far as he could, telling us we should have seen it. Of course, we never would. And, of course, we never believed him, either. This fish story is about one that didn’t get away, but being told by My Dad, it’s as long as the one that did.
My Dad wrote this fish story about a fish he caught when he was 14. Maybe that’s why he wrote it for me when I was 14. Both My Dad and I were 14 before cell phones and computers, when we had stuff we put our hands on and did stuff with before where we are now and where we were then some time ago way back when fishing was about more than just catching fish. Maybe that’s why his story sounds a bit like Mark Twain.
My Dad was born in 1891. I in 1938. That’s 47 years. My Dad was 14 in 1905. Simple math to do. 1891+47= 1938. So, 1891+14=1905. I was born in 1938, so 1938+14=1952. So far so good. But the rest of the math doesn’t seem right. If he was 47 years older, then, shouldn’t I have been 14 in 1967? No! I was 29! My Dad was 47 years older than I when he was born, not when he was 14! So, how many years was it that he caught that fish before I was born? 47-14= 33. So, it was 33 years before I was born that he wrote it. Right? 33 + 1905 = 1938, the year I was born! So, that’s how you do the math – or the arithmetic. I can do that, now but not when I was 14. There were many things I couldn’t do at 14. One of them was fish. I didn’t know the first thing about fishing, and when My Dad took me fishing, he didn’t catch anything, either. Of course, when I was 14, he was 61. (14+47=61, right? ) Maybe that’s why he wrote this little story about when he was 14 and knew how to fish. But, when you read the end of this, you’ll find that’s not the reason. When I read this again after 70 years or so, I knew it wasn’t the reason, either. I cried like an old man cries. A little tear or two. Maybe three. For My Dad whom I understood better than I had before.”
Episode 1
From the barn, you got a hunk of bailing-wire. With the pliers you fetched along, you cut off some wire and twisted it into a handle…a loop on one end and a kind of hook on the other. The loop was to go around the top of a tin can and thru a hole you’d nail-punched thru the side, near the top. It had to be a rusty can, leastwise rusty enough to dull the tin-shine. Any sort of glitter would spoil the secret magic you were working. (Nature never glitters unless devilment’s around, and devilment ain’t natural.) The hook was to fit over your belt or into any handy hole in your clothes. The purpose of this arrangement was to hang the can onto where you could easy-get to it. Now you had a non-shiny can with a good stout wire handle.
Next thing was to dig worms. Fat critters with plenty of wiggle in ’em. You covered the can-bottom with moist earth, dropped the worms in, then almost filled the can with more earth to cover the worms.
Nothing more to do right then, except the night chores, eat supper and skip washing your feet, if possible; then slide into bed. The stars glittered mighty big Up Yonder. No clouds. Be a fine tomorrow. Whilst you were thinkin’ how funny it was that when tomorrow got here, today would be yesterday, sleep shut in, sweet and soothing.
To be kontinued!