A Sacred Part of Fatherhood

A Sacred Part of Fatherhood From Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Wisdom of Dads
Email Share Comments (0) There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them. ~Andre Gide No one ever told me that when I became a father I would have to touch fish. "Hurry, Dad, it's gonna get away," my eight-year-old son complained. We'd gotten up way too early for being on vacation, but Brandon wanted to catch his first fish. He'd been talking about it nonstop for weeks. My head was foggy, and I had a sharp pain in my sternum. We'd been hunched over the railing of the local pier for two hours, and the top rail had etched a permanent mark in my chest. The smell from the sardine scales on my hands, coupled with the sight of the seagull droppings all over the pier, was making me a little nauseated. I've already touched the sardines, isn't that enough? I screamed inside. Imagine my surprise when the weather-beaten old man who ran the pier sold me the bait. "Those are dead fish!" I protested. "They're sardines," he instructed. "Best darn thing for catching mackerel." After receiving a complete lesson in how to cut up the sardines and bait the hook, I was sent off to the chopping station. I had been anxious all morning about what I was going to do if we caught a fish. How was I going to get it off the hook? Ever since I was a boy, I'd been afraid of fish. The first fish I ever caught was a sunny, and when I tried to take it off the hook I got spined. I had never gotten over the fear. I must have baited our hooks more than thirty times. If we stood on the bottom rail, and leaned out far enough, we could see the fish nibbling at our bait. Suddenly one latched on. I reeled in the fish, and we both stood frozen, staring at it. "Hurry, Dad, it's gonna get away. Get it off!"

I just stood there, frozen, holding the fishing pole. I looked like one of those posed suits of armor in a museum, except that I had a flailing mackerel on the end of my lance. People were beginning to stare. In the softest, most soothing voice I could muster, I said, "Okay Brandon, I want you to grab the fish around its middle, and then carefully take the hook out of its mouth." He took a step back. "I can't. I'm afraid." I was stunned. It was as if I was looking at myself thirty years ago. My throat tightened. My son had thirty years of fear ahead of him. Thirty years of struggling with loving to fish, but not being able to take his catch off the hook. Thirty years of snickers over his innovative ways of removing a fish from a hook without having to actually touch it. Thirty years of shame. The prospect of it was more than I could bear. In disbelief, I heard myself saying, "It's okay, son, there's nothing to be afraid of." Brandon watched in awe as I firmly gripped the six-inch mackerel around its middle. He took a step closer. The mackerel's eyes bulged slightly from the pressure, and its mouth opened wide. It was as if the fish were helping me. It felt natural. I removed the hook from the fish's lip with ease and rested the pole against the rail. "Dad, can I hold it?" It was tricky, but I handed off the prize to my eager son. When he was through admiring his first catch, Brandon agreed that we should throw it back. We leaned over the rail and watched it swim away. As we packed up our gear, Brandon asked, "Dad? When you were my age, were you afraid of fish?" "A little. But I got over it, just like you."

Read more: http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2009/04/ASacred-Part-of-Fatherhood.aspx#ixzz1Ewzh3KzN