My 72-year-old dad thought I was taking him fishing like we did when I was a kid. But the moment we reached the marina, the captain stared at Dad, pulled me aside, and lowered his voice. “He really doesn’t know?” I thought he meant my surprise. I was wrong.
My dad is 72, and until last month, I thought one of his biggest regrets was never being able to take me on a “real” fishing trip when I was a kid.
I was wrong.
We didn’t have much money growing up.
Other kids came back from summer break talking about amusement parks and beach hotels.
We didn’t have much money growing up.
Our vacations were day trips, and most of my clothes had belonged to somebody else’s kid first.
But I never thought of my childhood as unhappy.
A lot of that was because of Dad.
He worked maintenance for a manufacturing plant.
Some weeks he left before I woke up and came home after dinner with grease under his nails and a stiffness in his back that made him lower himself into a chair like an old man, even though he was barely forty.
But I never thought of my childhood as unhappy.
Still, on certain Saturday mornings, he’d wake me before sunrise.
“Get up.”
I’d roll over and bury my face in the pillow.
“Five more minutes.”
“Nope.”
“Dad…”
On certain Saturday mornings, he’d wake me before sunrise.
“The fish don’t sleep in.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they have jobs.”
That never made sense, but I was eight, so I accepted it.
He’d pack peanut butter sandwiches, two cans of soda, and whatever chips were cheapest that week.
That never made sense, but I was eight, so I accepted it.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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