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Posted by: Kim_Hamilton on 02/11/2011 12:56 AM
Updated by: Kim_Hamilton on 02/11/2011 12:57 AM
Expires: 01/01/2016 12:00 AM
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"Fishing with a 5 Year Old"~A Humor Column by The Copperopolis Curmudgeon
My earliest memories of fishing were trips I took with my grandfather in Nevada . . . I followed the old man into the woods to find the elusive trout in streams on the eastside of Mount Rose or on the bank of Pyramid Lake chasing horned toads. Horned toads exist. When we first moved to California the guys in my new school called me a liar when I told them that the blue belly lizards they had were for girls . . . cuz real boys had horned toads. Of course they had never heard of horned toads because they are not native to San Bruno......
But the next year I went fishing with grandpa I made sure to catch about five horned toads then put them in an old cigar box with sand and I probably broke about six or seven laws when I brought them home to California . . . you should have seen the faces on the guys at school when I showed them horned toads!
Better yet was the teacher standing on her chair screaming when one got loose in the class and ran under her desk . . . some how the humor escaped the Vice Principal??? He liked the lizards but made me promise never to bring them back to school.
Oh yeah . . . and horned toads spit blood from their eyes when they are afraid . . . no really they do . . . which also did not impress the Vice Principal when he picked one up and it spit blood on him.
Yeah I’m off track of the story so the old man does what old men do with boys of five years old . . . he taught me how to fish. He taught me how to rig my pole for stream or lake. He taught me how to cast and untangle my own line and how to get my hook unhooked from the tree across the stream.
He taught me how to fish for trout or catfish. He taught me how to thread a worm on the hook so the fish could not feel the hook and better than that he taught me patience. Because young boys of five do not exhibit patience.
This past weekend was my turn to take my oldest son and my grandson fishing . . . the boy is five. The day started off with the boy telling his dad that he would rather stay with grandma . . . my son and I just smiled at each other.
We set up on the bank and rigged the boys’ new pole for a big fat juicy night crawler. I attached a nice red and white bobber to keep the boys’ attention. This worked great . . . for about six seconds.
Then it started. Sticks and rocks going into the water . . . “I need to go potty dad”. “Can I have this thing I found in your tackle box dad?” “ Let’s go over there.” “And finally it came, “Grandpa when are we going home?”
We had only been here 20 minutes . . .
I smiled even though the temp had dropped to 39 degrees and realized this is what my grandpa had gone through with me all those years ago. Now here I was with my son and the newest fisherman in our family and I was the wise old man . . . learning the patience of fishing with a five year old boy.
So I’m wondering now about that lesson in patience because I know I didn’t learn how to fish the first couple of years. So over the years of fishing with my grandfather . . . who really learned this lesson of patience?
I’m seeing now that my grandfather and I were both learning a lesson . . . me learning to stop throwing rocks in the water and him learning to listen to a five year old boy wanting to stay with grandma or needing to know, “when are we going home or can we go over there?”
And you know that California still has no horned toads? Just not right for a five year old boy . . . cuz he knows fishing is for old men and that is real boring . . .
I know . . . just sit here and be quiet . . .
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