Welcome to Cyber Monday, the place where old bloggers rediscover their mojo, if at least for a day.
My story for the day:
Over Thanksgiving, I was talking to my mom & dad. Apparently, one of my mom's uncles wrote a book recently about fly fishing. We are NOT on the fishing side of the family. And we laughed at a shorthand version of one of the few times my dad took me fishing.
I was probably 8 – 10, and my dad took me and my sister to the local lake to fish. Not that anyone was into fishing, but it was the 70's and that's just one of the kind of things that parents did to bond with their kids.
We were casting for blue gill. The lake (Calhoun) was only just starting it's downward spiral of silting in and mossing over, so it was really a nice day to be out there. Warm air. Blue sky.
We were on the bank, in the shade of a big tree tree, and I put my rod back and went to cast. As I did so, I felt my line snag. Thinking I snagged a tree branch, I gave my rod a couple quick tugs.
Each punctuated by a yell from my father.
Seems I hadn't snagged a tree branch, but instead had put the hook into my dad's right ear.
I don't exactly remember how the hook got out of my dad's ear, but I do know the following:
- It wasn't done at a hospital. Unlike when I got a needle in my little toe.
- It was the end of that fishing trip.
- I'm not sure we ever went fishing again.