With the arrival of warmer days, I can't help but recall the Spring weekend our family spent at a Northwestern Ontario fishing lodge many years ago. I was organizing a medical conference there so our mini-vacation was gratis.
Daughter was only four, but that didn't stop hubby from wanting to take her fishing off the dock of the Marina. In preparation for the event, he poured over store shelves; re-stocking his supplies of hooks, lures, lines and anything else he thought they would need.
She picked out her very own kiddie rod and reel.
He purchased a fishing license.
He was determined that father and daughter were going to bring home dinner that weekend, even though we had a formal dining room with world-class chefs awaiting us back at the Lodge.
The big day came. Early one sunny morning we lugged the tackle boxes down to the lake, hubby stopping off to buy minnows on the way.
As he began to assemble the gear, daughter took charge of the minnows. Crouching low over the pail of live bait, she was entranced and proceeded to NAME them.
Not a good sign.
For when hubby tried to retrieve one to place on the hook, of course daughter freaked out.
"Ahhh!!!! No Daddy! Not Pickle!!!!!"
That marked the abrupt end to the Great Father-Daughter Fishing Derby of 1995.
Even though she pleaded with us to bring them home as pets, we convinced her they should be "set free" in the lake. So she dumped the pail of minnows over the edge of the wooden dock, cheerily waving, her high little voice bidding them farewell.
"Goodbye Pickle! Goodbye Sarah!"
As we turned to leave, my disgruntled husband swore he saw his catch jumping out of the water with glee as they gulped down the free meal we had just deposited for them.
And daughter, oblivious to it all, simply skipped down the path to the Lodge, swinging her empty pail in delight.
For her, that was the best "fishing trip" ever.
Not so much.
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