Part Five: Fishing Sucks (re-edited from previous post)
Of course we did not get a nibble from a fish the two times we went out. This is when I learned that there is no such thing as a pessimistic fisherman.
We knew there were fish in there just waiting to feast on clam snouts. But the shore is rocky and the tide was going out. We got tricked by that shoreline into thinking we had a fish, but in fact the rocks kept gobbling up the hooks and sinkers. The hooked rocks made the rods feel like there was a GIGANTIC fish at the other end so we reeled them in as far as we could and the lines just got tighter and tighter and the rods bowed. But we are still hopeful that this is the biggest fish anybody ever caught and we should just keep reeling it in.
My younger son is determined to catch a fish but his line is caught. This boy is not giving up – he is GOING to get that line FREE. He does not need any help. We try to reason that even if he pulls the line free, we don’t have any more hooks or sinkers and the bait shop is closed. But he fully intends to fish until the sun goes down. His brother has already admitted defeat but is searching the grounds for hooks left behind by other intrepid vacationers.
My husband and I are tired of waiting because we have been calling for everyone to go now for about half an hour. We know there is no chance in hell that line’s coming free, and we want to leave.
So EVIL Mommy takes action. I decide to end this game that my son is playing and cut the line so we can go home. He hears my warning and sees me coming, knife in my hand and gleam in my eyes, and hanging on to that rod, he cries “NOOOOOO, DON’T DO IT!!!!”
Snap! I cut the line. The freed rod is tossed to the ground and my young son goes stomping away, throws his hat on the ground, and wails “I don’t want to ever hear the word FISHING again!!!”
Sensitive parents that we are, my husband and I laugh hysterically at his theatrics. He remains furious at us for at least half an hour, slouched down in the back seat with his hat over his eyes and arms crossed against his chest.
As you may have surmised, this was not our last fishing excursion. He and his brother have gone through many rods and lines and hooks and sinkers, but have managed to catch and release more fish than I ever caught as a kid. And I get the pleasure of watching them enjoy at least one common interest, which is one I shared with my dad decades ago. And that IS pretty special, after all.