My son Joseph caught his first fish last weekend. I mean, like, first fish EVER. He’s only three years old, and the concept of “fishing” really hasn’t sunk in. He knows what fish are – his whole fishworld revolves around Nemo – from the movie Finding Nemo. Plus, we just got him a fish tank for his 3rd birthday, complete with a Nemo-looking Goldfish. But I’m not sure he completely understood what I was asking when I said, “do you want to go fishing?” But he said “okay” anyway.
So, last weekend, we’re visiting the in-laws at their summer place on the east end of Long Island, and it is just the beginning of snapper season. Snappers, for those non-anglers, are teenage bluefish, and are perhaps the easiest fish to catch during their peak season. You can practically catch them by simply sticking your big toe in the water – and if you’ve got a good hangnail, you might be able to hold on to it.
Anyways, it’s early in the season, and we are going to try a few lines tosses in the creek on my in-laws property. Chances are, we wouldn’t catch anything, but it would give me a chance to show Joseph how it’s done without the frenzy of hauling in tons of fish. Out on the bay in a boat or from the beach one can catch about 100 snappers within a half hour, and it can get pretty crazy.
So Joe’s all excited to go “fishing” and we stroll down to the dock jutting out into the creek. It’s high tide, late in the afternoon and perfect for lazily casting out a fishing line. We’re standing on the end of this dock and I figure I’ll cast it out and let him reel it in. I’m using a crappy little spinning rod with a crappy little silver spinner on the end that is practically rusting. It’s about as appetizing as paper clip on the end of a piece of string. I’m already thinking this is going to be a waste of time.
So I give the rod a good snap and send this weightless spinner only about 20-30 feet out into the creek. I position Joseph in front of me and help him hold the rod and show him how to turn the reel to pull the line back in. He gets it pretty easily and starts reeling, with a big smile on his face. Suddenly the line goes taunt and the rod bends and I realize we’ve caught something.
Joe’s looks a bit confused, so I take over the reeling and say, “Hey buddy! We caught something!” I reel the monster in and when it gets close to the dock I say, “Hey, look at that – we caught a fishy!” I pull the fish out of the water – all 6 inches of him – and the fish is jerking and spazzing all over the place. Joe has taken a few steps back as he watches the fish drop on the deck, flopping and flailing all over the place on the end of the line. I look over at him and say, “Look at that Joe! You caught a fishy!”
Joe gives me one last look, a look I recognize as absolute fear, and then lets out a blood-curdling scream. He starts jumping up and down, screaming his bloody head off, waving his arms in the air in panic, not sure what to do. I’m afraid he’s going to fall off the dock so I quickly go over to him and try to calm him down. The fish is still flipping all over the place, but eventually dislodges the hook from it’s mouth and flips right back into water.
Joe calms down once the fish disappeared and now we’re both looking over the side into the water where the fish splashed. “Joe, what was that all about? It’s just a fish. I told you we were going to catch fish.”
He continues to look down in the water, contemplating the situation. Finally he says, “Again daddy! I want to catch the fishy again!”
I stand up, shaking my head, “Alright, but you’re not gonna scream like a little girl again, are you?”
“No daddy. I want to catch the fishy again.”
“Okay…” I cast out a few more times, letting Joe reel it in, but we don’t get anymore hits. “Joe, I think you scared off all the fishies with that scream.”
We call it a day and go home. But Joseph spent the rest of the night telling anybody who would listen about the big fish he caught.
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