My dad would've turned 50 today. I've been staying in Combe for the past few days to celebrate his birthday with Ellie, and I think I'll stay in the area through Yuletide.
There's a small pond where the Cutleafs live. Sometimes I like to sit by it and remember my dad. He was always fishing in there, when he wasn't working. He liked to say that fishing was the greatest hobby in the world, because you can sit there and relax in the sun, and still have dinner by the end of the day. I was never much of a fisher myself, though on occasion I would join him by the pond and catch a few fish.
I remember my first time fishing with him. I was about ten at the time, and I had resisted all of his urgings for me to join him up until that point. But he caught me in a moment of boredom, and truly having nothing better to do I finally complied, and I went out to fish with him.
I thought it was rather boring, but I humored him. Mostly I just stood there, pole in hand, waiting for a fish to bite at the hook. Meanwhile, my dad caught two catfish (as well as a slew of minnows and goldfish, which he threw back), and he put them in a bucket to cook later. He made really wonderful catfish cakes when he had a mind to, and that day he did. I think I put him in a good mood.
Then, just as the day was starting to grow old, I got a bite. I went from bored to ecstatic in the blink of an eye, and I reeled in the line as best I could. My dad just stood there, watching me intently from a stone's throw away, as I finally lifted the fish from the water. It was so heavy, I expected to see a catfish as big as those my dad had caught.
But, to my disappointment, I only caught a minnow. Maybe it was slightly larger than the average minnow, but that's not saying much. But my dad smiled widely and laughed, congratulated me, and took the little fish, and while I expected him to throw it back, instead he placed it in a bucket beside the catfish. I was rather confused why he did this, but despite my imploring he would not say.
I thought nothing more of it, and over the next few days I forgot about it completely. But I never forgot the rush from that first catch, and every once in a while I would fish with my dad, always finding joy in the capture of the fish. It's rather like hunting, isn't it? Only, more peaceful.
Just today, I was looking through some closets and old boxes in Ellie's house for my dad's favorite fishing pole. She said that, if I found it, I could keep it. So, accordingly, I spent most of today searching. And I found many things (including the pole), which brought to mind many memories of my father. But I found something that brought to mind a memory that I forgot I had; a memory from the first time I ever fished with him.
There, near the bottom of a box of old fishing trophies that my dad had won (exceptionally large fish, all of them, stuffed by the taxidermist in Bree), was a particularly strange one. A full-sized mounting plaque, but a much smaller fish than the rest. I saw that it was a minnow, maybe slightly larger than the average minnow, but that's not saying much. Written on the back of the plaque, scratched into the wood, were the words "Wincer's First Catch".
I really need to fish more.
