When I bolted to attention I startled my wife out of a dead sleep “What’s wrong?” she asked.
I took a couple heaving breaths before realizing it was all a terrible nightmare. I then forced a smile. “Just a stupid dream,” I replied. “Go back to sleep.”
But as I laid there with my eyes wide open, I knew my nightmare would someday come to pass. It was inevitable!
“When are you going to take the grandchildren fishing?” Dear God Almighty, I had already gone through that mind-altering frustration with my own children. If you want to know all the gruesome details just read my article published in Reader’s Digest many years back. It basically tells the whole pathetic story. Now this horrible episode in my life is coming back to haunt me. Where is their father? I certainly didn’t go crying to my dad to take my kids fishing. I did it. But, unfortunately, my son-in-law knows as much about fishing as I do Astrophysics. I knew there was something I didn’t like about him!
Bless their hearts, I know there are grandfathers out there that are more that happy to take their grandkids fishing, or any other amusement for that matter. But, obviously, that is their form of enjoyment. “That’s okay, Johnny, when we get home the doctor will have that hook surgically removed from my ear in no time at all. Here, let me put another hook on, and see what other locations on my body you can embed it.” Sorry, I don’t have that kind of patients. Bring them back when they’re somewhere in their early teens. Now I have something to work with. Before ten years of age, I might as well give the instructions to my outboard motor. The only words they seem to react to are those that conveniently fit into their wants and needs. Take the words, “I want,” or “I need,” out of their vocabulary, and they have no idea how to put a sentence together.
Judging from the observations gathered while in our home, my twin grandchildren have the attention span and patients of a household flea. That, in itself, does not leave a whole lot of promise when placing them in the confinements of a 12 ft boat out in the middle of a lake. If there is one thing I have learned from my own children, it is the actual act of catching fish means very little. Casting, or the attempt to do so, is far more entertaining. Because they are slinging about their persons, not to mention mine, a sharp hook which has a barb thats function is to not be dislodged easily, one can understand the problems that can occur.
So now picture this. I am a 67 year old man, who has a limited amount of years remaining on this earth, volunteering my precious time to allow my grandchildren an opportunity to kill me! This could be accomplished through either a heart attack brought on by the frustrations of their asinine behavior, or possibly bleeding to death from a hook-injected wound, or falling overboard, or any combination of the above. And then there is the chance one of them could fall overboard. I know when they get in my boat in the garage, it turns into their own personal race track slash trampoline. I have only two exposed wires in my boat. One runs to the depth finder in the front, and other to the depth finder in the rear. They managed to uproot both within minutes.
So I guess all I can do is look at the positives that may come out of my torture. If my father would not have taken me fishing, where the hell would I be now? I certainly wouldn’t have made a fair amount of money selling Outdoor Humor articles, not to mention love fishing so. And, who knows, after a few trips out with the grandkids I may come up with a couple great articles to sell to Mental Health Weekly.
All I asked is just give me a couple more years before these little urchins are turned loose in my boat, or I get their father interested in fishing, which ever comes first….Hopefully, it will be the latter, though I seriously doubt it.