October 2009
My parents were coming out for my son’s birthday, and I was very excited to introduce them to the veterans and show them around. Mike said he was looking forward to meeting them, but maybe only to be nice to me. We picked a day, and figured we’d fish for a couple hours at the pond, take a quick tour and wave goodbye.
We ended up down there three times. The first time, it was like bringing home my high-school boyfriend. I really, really wanted them all to like each other. Mike and my dad are, as they say, two peas in a pod. I’ve seen little similarities in them all along – the pocketknife they both carry, the clever-monkey way they create and use things, the Navy backgrounds, the smart-assed-ness, and the Leave Me Alone ballcaps. But once they were together, it was undeniable. I would throw out a cast, and they would both bark: "Give it more slack!" "You’ve got to set the hook!" "Not so close to the net!" Great -- double the father figures, double the helpful input.
They talked about ships, and fish, and the military. My mom and I watched and smiled, moving our chairs over and over into the last sun of the day. It got chilly fast, and I knew Mike was cold. But he was not leaving.
At one point my dad and I caught a giant trout—huge, ornery and slippery. As we pulled out the hook and wrangled his fins out of the net, he slapped his stupid fish head into a pole and flipped back into the lake. And sank. I got a sick feeling—everything was going so well, and now we’d killed Grandpa Rainbow.
A guy on shore yelled that that happens a lot – the fish had just knocked himself silly and would come to in a minute or two. But how long can a fish just lie there? We tried to stir him with the net, but the handle was too short. We tried to tell ourselves he’d be all right. Then my dad jogged up to shore and brought back a long PVC pole. We reached the fish, gave him a nudge, and the fish disappeared. We didn’t see him again, but we're sticking with the belief that that’s good news.
Later, Mike told me he would have liked to have worked for my dad. Even later, out of nowhere, he said, "When your dad got that pole to save that fish, he went to the top in my book."
When we left, Mike said how much he enjoyed talking with my parents and hoped we’d all be back. I joked that he was just using me to get to my parents, but then it hit me: He had made friends his own age, and they had bonded over things they have in common: their service, their love of fishing (and animals), their histories … and me.
After they’d left, Mike asked me, "What’s your mom like?" I said, "Do you mean what does she like, or what is she like?" and he said, "Both." I told him she is a retired teacher; a wonderful person, mother and grandmother; and she loves word games and puzzles.
He has since won her three Sudoku books at Bingo. I have sent her one. He still has her thank-you card on his bedside table. I am sending the other two for her birthday, from her new faraway friend.
My parents were coming out for my son’s birthday, and I was very excited to introduce them to the veterans and show them around. Mike said he was looking forward to meeting them, but maybe only to be nice to me. We picked a day, and figured we’d fish for a couple hours at the pond, take a quick tour and wave goodbye.
We ended up down there three times. The first time, it was like bringing home my high-school boyfriend. I really, really wanted them all to like each other. Mike and my dad are, as they say, two peas in a pod. I’ve seen little similarities in them all along – the pocketknife they both carry, the clever-monkey way they create and use things, the Navy backgrounds, the smart-assed-ness, and the Leave Me Alone ballcaps. But once they were together, it was undeniable. I would throw out a cast, and they would both bark: "Give it more slack!" "You’ve got to set the hook!" "Not so close to the net!" Great -- double the father figures, double the helpful input.
They talked about ships, and fish, and the military. My mom and I watched and smiled, moving our chairs over and over into the last sun of the day. It got chilly fast, and I knew Mike was cold. But he was not leaving.
At one point my dad and I caught a giant trout—huge, ornery and slippery. As we pulled out the hook and wrangled his fins out of the net, he slapped his stupid fish head into a pole and flipped back into the lake. And sank. I got a sick feeling—everything was going so well, and now we’d killed Grandpa Rainbow.
A guy on shore yelled that that happens a lot – the fish had just knocked himself silly and would come to in a minute or two. But how long can a fish just lie there? We tried to stir him with the net, but the handle was too short. We tried to tell ourselves he’d be all right. Then my dad jogged up to shore and brought back a long PVC pole. We reached the fish, gave him a nudge, and the fish disappeared. We didn’t see him again, but we're sticking with the belief that that’s good news.
Later, Mike told me he would have liked to have worked for my dad. Even later, out of nowhere, he said, "When your dad got that pole to save that fish, he went to the top in my book."
When we left, Mike said how much he enjoyed talking with my parents and hoped we’d all be back. I joked that he was just using me to get to my parents, but then it hit me: He had made friends his own age, and they had bonded over things they have in common: their service, their love of fishing (and animals), their histories … and me.
After they’d left, Mike asked me, "What’s your mom like?" I said, "Do you mean what does she like, or what is she like?" and he said, "Both." I told him she is a retired teacher; a wonderful person, mother and grandmother; and she loves word games and puzzles.
He has since won her three Sudoku books at Bingo. I have sent her one. He still has her thank-you card on his bedside table. I am sending the other two for her birthday, from her new faraway friend.