An alarm goes off in the distance, and then a quiet knocking at my door.

It's barely 5 am as I find myself sinking further into the warmth of my comforter.

Fishing is really one of the last things I feel like doing.


I hear the murmured voices of my Mom and Dad.

Dad is clearly annoyed that I am still fast asleep when there are Bass waiting in the **** bed.

I hear my Mom whisper, "But Ron, she is only nine."

The words fall on deaf ears.

Reluctantly I pull myself out of bed, throw on some clothes,

and try my best to put on a face of enthusiasm.



We fill our aluminum boat with fishing gear, poles, tackle box,

thermos filled with piping hot cocoa, and a few blankets

to help keep the chill to a minimum.

The sun seems reluctant to rise this morning as well,

but slowly she starts to show her colors

as we head out to the **** bed and our unsuspecting victims.



The water is amazingly still, like a glass mirror reflecting the sky.

Our waves ripple across the water, but eventually the calm returns.

We cast out our lines and out of the stillness comes an explosion unlike anything I had ever witnessed.

A Large-Mouthed Bass with as ferocious an appetite as a Grizzly, attacks my lure,

taking it back down to the murky depths from which it came.

Eventually I am able to reel in the monster, although it puts up a pretty impressive fight.



I will admit, it is an event I will never forget, truly awesome.

Sharing a moment of glory, fun even, just me and my Dad.

Moments like these just never seemed to last.

No matter how much I wished time would stand still, it would disappear,

like the fog that morning,

lifting from the lake as if it were from a dream.



I know my Dad always wished he had sons.

Sons to fish with, play ball with, go golfing.

Instead, God gave him two daughters.



I tried to be a son.


Not only did I learn to fish,

but I watched my Dad intently as he cleaned the fish we brought in,

and in time I picked up the art as well.

Naturally I tried taking my knowledge of cleaning fish to the next level,

when I caught a plethora of small perch off our dock.

I cleaned each one with the same precision and expertise I had been privy to,

and was overjoyed to contribute to our ever-growing collection of fillets.



Dad was none to happy, however, when he opened the freezer one day,

only to have some twenty miniature fish fillets come tumbling out upon him.


He was also not thrilled that I had used his knife without asking.



I just couldn't win it seemed,

no matter how hard I tried.


I was always just a girl, not a son.



I still am.