Inspired by Robin

I know exactly where I got my sense of adventure and my love and passion for the "great outdoors" and for life. There was always one person who consistently fostered my eagerness to see more of what was around me and to take the simple joys of life and make them bigger and fuller. That was my dad.

Some would be surprised about that. I know I've grown apart from the man over the years, but my childhood memories are ambushed with the fun I had with my dad. Like every little kid, I thought Dad knew everything. And believe me, he did.

He knew about the plants and animals when we went hiking or exploring.
He knew how to cast a fishing line and how to catch (and cook!) the biggest fish in the lake.
He knew how to get lost on really long drives and somehow find his way back at the right moment, before everyone got too cranky.
He knew how to grill the world's best Sunday barbecue.
He knew how to take apart and rebuild anything--- including the barn out back.
He knew where to find the best donuts and ice cream cones.

It was a Sunday afternoon. The sun was high in the blue sky and there was nothing blocking the shine. The sun dripped down onto the grass, a shine of butter atop the green blades.

"Who wants to go fishing!" Dad stood tall on the back deck, his bronze skin flashing along with the excitement in his voice.

I immediately jumped up from my station on the lawn, "Me! Me!"

"Let's go!" We walked across the street to the Delp's. They owned a bait shop, a Christmas tree farm, and a couple fantastic looking pigs. The bait shop was cool and dark. Several large tubs lined up inside the cave-like building, some with fish, some just with water. There was a refrigerator by the door, a watchful eye to the shop. Dad opened it confidently and made his choice: meal worms.

Dad's truck waited for us in the driveway. I bumbled my way through his work shop, helping as best I could to collect the poles.  My scrawny legs ran to catch up to Dad, who was already piling the bed of the truck with a cooler, his bait box, the meal worms, and the poles.

The lake was a place of mystery. As a child, I didn't know where it was in relation to anything else in the world. It was as if my dad and I collided with a fantasy world that only he and I could see and experience. We found a ledge  that jutted out into the water, a drooping tree offering her trunk to rest up against. I learned  how to hook a worm, cast a line, and reel it back in. My scabby legs and wiry arms were immune to the dirt and worm guts of the afternoon.

I looked up at Dad and toothily grinned as he cast his line out, his deep, playful voice recounting the various fish he's seen in this lake.

The trip would always end faster than I'd want it to. I could have sipped on Coca Cola and cast out that line for hours and hours on end. But, the sun would begin its descent and we would have to head home for dinner.

And although I never caught anything, I got to spend a whole day with my dad, gone fishin'.