For this week’s Fun Monday, Olive has asked us to tell about a whopper of a fish story. I signed up knowing that I’m pretty good at coming up with quite the story from just a little kernel of truth. (Just ask my family…it drives them nuts when I use my Creative License to liven up a tale. Only once or twice of course…)
Despite having a week to come up with a great story…I’ve got nothing. See, you have to have at least that kernel of truth in there. I’ve only been fishing twice in my life, and neither was a good experience for me.
The first time I went fishing was in the Pacific when I was a kid. All I really remember is that the grown ups drank a lot and that I caught a sand shark. Somehow that shark got twisted up in my mind with a movie that I had watched. (I think I’m scarred for life.)
The next time was on a Co-Op preschool field trip to the Trout Pond. The pond was really a shallow cement pool with nasty looking water in it. We helped our children drop a pre-baited hook into the water and waited about ten seconds until one of the many starving trout attacked it. Then a “fisherman” that worked there took it off the hook and wrapped it up for us.
I tried really hard not to show my horror at such cruelty to my daughter who was beaming with pride. Then I suggested that we give that very special fish to friends of ours. Thankfully she agreed. (There was no way I was going to clean and eat that poor fish.)
Of course that reminds me of the time my dad brought home a monster sized fish from somewhere and insisted that I clean it for him. That poor dead fish and I looked each other in the eye and I lost it. It was the first of many times that I became a vegetarian.
I’m sure a better person than me could write a heck of a story about any of those…but I’m still waaaay too traumatized.