My uncle took me on my first fishing trip somewhere in Illinois when I was 15 years old. It wasn’t something I’d really wanted to do. He was a heavy machinery mechanic, was going to be out on a job all day, so my brother and I tagged along. My uncle parked me on one side of the pond, baited the hook of the fishing pole he gave me, and let me go to it while he and my brother went to fix the…whatever it was.
Well, I did catch some fish. Every time I did, I’d run around the pond to where my brother and uncle were working, holding the fishing pole as far out in front of me as I could until one of them removed the fish and re-baited the hook.
Come to think of it, that was probably the last time I went fishing!
Perhaps fishing off a nice city pier, in the early morning sun, might have been a more encouraging start…
Naahhh. I’d rather fish for pictures!