Trust
The Internet- that great wasteland. So much crap to wade through to find anything of substance. But, every now & then I find something that justifies the mind-numbing hours that I spend sitting right here. The following dissertation was posted on another fishing forum. I thought that it was poignant & a great read. Here it is...
"Watch your step, we're gonna go around a deep hole." I said.
As I guided my son out of harms way, I couldn't help but focus on our locked hands as we waded across the whitewater. Raised by a single mother, I never really knew my dad. I can remember a few times when I was really little where he came to pick me up for a few hours. We'd go to one of his friends' houses, and alone, I'd play out in the yard until it was time for him to take me home.
Strange thing about those visits is I never really felt safe around my dad. Why, I have no idea. It wasn't like my mom had told me anything to make me afraid, but there was always an uneasiness in the air as if something bad was gonna happen. It wasn't long before he just stopped coming to pick me up. I think the last time I saw him was on my sixth or seventh birthday. He got me a Harley Davidson shirt from one of the local biker shops. What kind of man abandons their child? Now that I've got kids of my own, I can't grasp it.
To pay the bills my mom often worked multiple jobs. Still, we were always pretty poor. I vividly remember many nights in that rural trailer where we had to share a can of spaghetti o's for dinner. The long hours she put in meant that as early as 3rd grade, I was waking up with her at like 5am, then after she left for work, I'd kill the time before the bus arrived by watching old cartoons like the jetsons, rocky & bullwinkle, looney tunes, and the flintstones. As dumb as it sounds, I attribute the fact that I get along better with older people than those of my own age by the fact that we grew up on the same cartoons.
The best part about the long hours she worked was the time I got to myself after the bus dropped me off from school. I had a push button zebco and a bb gun that I'd haul around on my bike to local woodlots and streams. I used to shoot every bird that flew into our yard or the neighboring farmer's field until one day my mom got sick of all the dead birds laying around and told me that from then on, I had to eat anything I killed. I don't think I ever shot another bird again.
For a brief stint, I had a walker coon hound to keep me company. The damn dog would always break the chain on it's doghouse while I was at school and run off. Each time after we'd find him, we'd buy a heavier chain, but there must have been some wicked smells floating through the air cause he kept breaking free. I don't know if he really broke the chain and ran off for the last time, or if my mom just couldn't afford to feed him anymore and gave him away.
She eventually meet a good guy and remarried. In a sense, I'm glad I spent those early years in my life without a dad. I had to learn to do a lot of things dads are supposed to teach on my own. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? To this day, the ability to figure things out on my own, such as how to be a dad, is something I rely on daily. Still, I don't want my kids to have to figure life out on their own. I want to be there to guide them through those tough moments in life when they can see the other side of the river, but have to cross a long stretch of rapids without being able to see the bottom to get there.
You don't really see fathers and sons holding hands very often these days. Obviously, I never saw my dad's hand around mine. So as we worked our way through the rapids, I sort of treasured the moment. He couldn't see the bottom and didn't know how to get to the other side, but with 100 percent trust in me, he held onto my hand, knowing that I'd safely get him to the far bank. Maybe better yet, though, was that he kept holding on after we got there.
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Peace out!
-Steve-
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