Gold On The Inside

A fishing trip with the pops. My dad started taking me fishing when I was a couple years old. We used to fish at a lake near the Mississippi and the Meramec River. It was in the shadow of a coal power plant, they stopped letting people fish there about 15 years ago. Which is a shame, because the fishing was fantastic. My earliest memories of our fishing trips were leaving after dinner in the summertime, with maybe some canned corn or worms. I would take my Snoopy Pole and my extendable single line crappie pole, and then go try my luck. I never stopped fishing, and have gotten to be quite good at. Then my dad and I started trout fishing. He would always take me on a Sunday, and then I would get to skip school. That was big deal, skipping school in my family. My first couple of trips were almost complete failures. Then we started going to Bennett Springs. We starting catching fish, and we have been going back ever since. There is a reason why fishing trips with dads have become a favorite cliche and used as fodder for crappy T.V. shows and movies, they can be a comedy of errors. But, there is also a reason why they are still sacred to a lot of sons. Being able to spend some uninterrupted time with the man who set the mold for who we are. I am fortunate that my dad is still around, he had a serious brush with death about 3 years ago. There is no reason why he should be here with us. That's why I look forward to my fishing trips with my dad because I know these trips are on borrowed time. Every day I become more and more like my dad, and he is a good man. In the trout stream, next to the stage or screen, is my happy place. When you read this, I will be fly fishing with nothing in my head and a cigar gnashed between my teeth.