…for my soul and whatnot…
Like most males (and females perhaps…?? why not) who had grown up near a body of water or two, that ol’ classic cliche of boyhood fishing memories was not just a Beaver and Wally story arc or a Norman (f***in’) Rockwell illustration of Americana. They’re about recalling cherished moments of adventure, exploration, camaraderie and simpler times. Thinking back to my childhood fishing memories makes me think of a time when I had the whole world ahead of me and my only worry was if I should continue to cast HERE or if I should cast THERE, a couple feet up river.
Yes I know I was only at the age where my biggest life stresses were the upcoming Social Studies essay that was due, my little league batting slump, and figuring out how I’m going to beat Bowser in Super Mario 3. But it’s all relative, because at that youthful moment I was still aware that while fiddling with hooks and worms and underwater creatures, all of that real life dramas had drifted away like the dark clouds of yesterday’s past.
A couple years ago I acquired a fishing rod/reel through a works reward program. That thing sat in my closet since, despite all the times I peeked in and thought to myself, “I gotta get some line and hit the lake!”
But in actuality, my thoughts were far complex than that. They were full on grown-up questions of identity, doubt, strategy and all these other abstractions to further confuse a simple matter because that’s what a civilized adult human does, right?
Fast-forward to now: A spool of fishing line with the appropriate yardage and weight (test) has been ordered along with a starters tackle, and I am looking forward to putting it all together, turn my mind of and CAST OFF! And if someone asks me, “What yer fishin fer, city boy?” I’ll just reply, “Fer fuuuun!”