“On the boat,” I replied. “Why?”
“Me and Gabe want to go fishing,” he said.
“Really?” I noted, impressed that the boys wanted to do something outside and active rather than play with X-Box, Nintendo, or some other electronic form of entertainment.
“Yeah. They’re catching mackerel down off the beach at the ferry dock.”
“They are?” I responded, not so much surprised that the mackerel were running, but that the boys had already been spending outdoor time. “OK, then. We need to find you some tackle.”
I was excited. My son had enjoyed fishing with me since he was three-years-old, but this marked the first time he had ever expressed interest in going off fishing on his own initiative. It brought to mind my own 12-year-old self when I had been bitten hard by the fishing bug. Like my son, I had always enjoyed fishing with my Dad, but never sought to go off on my own until I reached that age. And after that first trip with a buddy to a neighbor’s mill pond, I was hooked — all from just catching some small sunfish and catfish.