I just came in from taking the trash out with my up coming fishing trip on my mind. Standing in the kitchen looking out the window I had a pity-pot moment. “Oh why don’t I have any fun memories of my youth and the fishing trips I must have gone on.” No more did I have that thought when my mind flooded with such memories. My dad getting me out of school, driving fifty miles, renting a wooden boat with a 2.5 horse power motor and trolling for trout. My first memory of that was in the fifth grade. I know there are pictures of Dad and the family on Lake Louise fishing back in the fifties. That’s the lake where me and my Dad would go on the days he allowed me to play hooky from school. What boy could ever forget such a memory, not this one for sure. I don’t remember all the details of these fishing trips, but I do know that a father was passing his love of fishing down to his youngest son. Dad and I would fish together when ever possible even into my adulthood, sadly due to my schedule and PTSD, not nearly enough.
I kept the tradition up with my son. I know he will always remember the first time I pulled up to East End Elementary School in my blue Ford F-150 with my 17 ft red and gold Astroglass bass boat in tow. It was the best dentist appointment we both had ever been on. I am a very blessed man to have the bond with my son that I have. The love of fishing and the memories it creates are priceless.