The Fishing Expedition

• Short story

								
The Fishing Expedition 

It was a Tuesday in May. The year was nineteen eighty-nine.  I arrived at my parents’ home at five-thirty in the morning, feeling the part in my fishing attire.  A yawning sun was stretching itself awake, and the air felt damp and chilly. Dad met me at the front door with his big smile bursting with boyish excitement. “Are you ready?!” he whispered, not to wake up my mom. “I’m ready!”

The car ride to the Delaware River was an hour of fishing stories, both entertaining and instructional. By the time we arrived, I was anxious to get into the humble fishing boat and catch ‘the big one’. The enthusiastic guide quickly got us situated, and the three of us set off on our adventure. 

Two long, lazy hours went by, and now the sun shined brightly in a perfect blue sky. The views from the river were of vacant warehouses, and apartment buildings scattered here and there. Not what I expected, but interesting. We passed under a bridge, a bold sign proudly proclaiming: Trenton Makes, The World Takes.

No nibbles yet, but I was patient. Dad and I listened to the guide’s assessment of best spots in the river to fish that time of year. “Month ‘o May can be a tricky one.”, he 
chortled. “Okay,” I thought, “just enjoy the moment with Dad. Today isn’t about catching a fish, it’s about making memories to last a lifetime.”

Another hour passed, and another. Dad wanted my memories of that day to include a great catch, and for that reason I hoped it would happen…

Suddenly my line was taut and the handle of the fishing rod was digging into my belly! “Don’t pull her up yet- let her get tired. It’ll be easier to get her into the boat!” He was so excited, I could hear him chuckling behind me, his own rod hanging loosely in the water. 
Although it felt like an hour, twelve minutes went by as my fish battled the hook and wore me out simultaneously. The pole dug deeper into my belly as I grew more and more determined to catch that whale-of-a-striped-bass. Dad and the guide cheered me on the whole exhausting time, until finally the massive beauty could be seen peering into the boat. With Dad’s help, we got her up and over and in. “About 20 pounds!”, the guide shouted to us. My first fish story. 

I was was panting from exertion, and pride. Dad unhooked her carefully, not to rip her lip, and tossed her back into the river. He patted my back and gave me a hug. He was more excited than I was. “Great job! You have fun?” I had to admit it was more fun than I expected it to be! Though I wasn’t thrilled about hooking the poor fish’s lip, I got the sense she enjoyed the tête-à-tête as much as I did.

Dad didn’t catch a fish that day, but he didn’t care. It was more important that I had the chance to experience what he loved so much. 

The car ride home was quiet. Fresh spring breezes blew in through the windows. Soft rock music played on the radio as we left the river behind. Dad gently pinched my shoulder. “That was a great day.” 
“It really was Dad. It was so much fun.” 
I hugged his arm.

I looked over at him, and saw him smiling. I remember thinking, “This will be a day I will treasure the rest of my life.”

Thirty five years later, I can still feel the tug on my line, the bruises on my belly, and the love in my father’s smile. I miss you, Dad.
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