In Which a Young Laurel Attempts to Fish

Last Friday night, I attended an evening of storytelling devoted to food courtesy of DISCO and Birmingham’s Food Summit. While I declined to tell a story (I wanted to give everyone else a chance, you see, it has nothing at all to do with my fear of public speaking, really), it did get me thinking about food and the sources of food. Plus, with it being Thanksgiving and all, it seemed like a fine time for a food-related tale. So, here we go.

Since my father has no boys, he was intent on teaching his daughters many of the skills most dads imparted to their sons. When he (quite admirably) decided to help my Brownie troop earn its sports badge, I remember two primary lessons:

1. Centers need to be tall. (I found this out when I, at fewer than five feet, volunteered to be the center, and my father suggested that Callie, at over five feet, would probably make a better choice.)

2. For “real” players, “no blood, no foul.”

While the latter was not enforced, it was still a little on the intense side for a gaggle of nine-year-olds.

My sisters and I were subject to many an action film, the library of all things James Bond and some very “involved” softball coaching. But, what stood out as the food stories were going around was the many times my father tried to get us interested in fishing.

Since we have a lake house, this makes perfect sense. Lake = water = fish. However, when you’re trying to teach three girls to fish, there are a few problems, and while you might think worms would be the worst of it, I think patience was the much bigger problem.

Fishing adventures tended to end shortly after the first or fifteenth, “I’m bored.”

Plus, whenever we did catch a fish, it was always a throw-away on the dumb side of fish life. (I can remember more than a couple holes or hooks already in its mouth.)

One day though, my father came in with some news.

“We’re going fishing!” he said.

Three collective sighs went around the table – especially since we were in Birmingham and nowhere near our lake house.

“This time is going to be different,” my dad said. “We’re going to a special pond. Guaranteed good fishing.”

Reluctantly, we got in the car, drove for about half an hour and came to a stop at the smallest “lake” I had ever seen. But sure enough, nearly a minute after I put my line in the water, I pulled out one of the biggest catfish I had ever seen.  

Soon, I caught two more fish, and my sisters were just as lucky. “This is a special pond,” I thought.

“I think we should only keep three a piece,” my dad said later. “We’ve got to leave some for everybody else.”

I wanted to keep every fish I caught. (Boy, were they biting that day!) But my dad’s logic made sense, in addition to the fact that he was my dad and he made the rules, so we quickly agreed.

It wasn’t until we were leaving, and a man pulled my father aside to weigh and pay for our fish that I realized we weren’t quite at a “special pond.” We were at a stocked pond, and this little adventure was costing my father quite a bit of money.

It was an especially expensive outing when you consider that later that night, after my father had prepared and cooked a full fish meal (with a freezer full of catfish to spare), we each responded with, “I don’t like catfish,” and opted for other dinner options instead.

That’s just my dad though – always going out of his way and doing his best to make sure that his girls were never disappointed. Whether it was making his daughters think of themselves as star fishermen, attending every softball, soccer and volleyball game or enduring hours at the mall, he always made us feel like he wanted to and enjoyed just being there. (I can imagine that it wasn’t always the dream of a “no blood, no foul” kind of guy to spend hours watching a fashion show after shopping.)

So, this Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for my dad, and all of the ways he made us feel special and cared for. I’m also thankful for my mom, who is equally awesome and attentive, two great sisters, a new brother-in-law, a kid my sister dates who feels like a member of the family, my own SO and the rest of the crazy bunch I’ll get to spend tomorrow with.

I’m also incredibly thankful we’ll be enjoying a meal full of glorious carbs and sugar – catfish not included.