I know you think you know what these are, but I’m pretty sure you’re wrong. I’ll bet you are thinking they are fishing lures, and while, technically, that may be true, but let me tell you what they really are.
Dad was an avid outdoorsman. Being out in the woods or a on a lake was his heaven on earth. It wasn’t always about the getting the shot, or catching a mess of fish. Mostly it was about being with someone: family or friends, or maybe someone that just needed a father figure or a some quiet for a few hours. See, Dad could fish all day and not talk. He would let the others do the talking. His thought was that the solitude would allow the brain to clear, the anger to settle, the future to become clear. The lake was a place of fun, reflection and thought, and time spent on the water was never wasted.
He shared his love of fishing with whomever he could, but he especially like taking his family. For years. we spent many of his long weekends and vacations camped at Lone Star Lake. We grew up on those waters. By 13, any of us could take the boat and head out to catch fish because we knew the lake so well. Many summer mornings while camping, we were wakened by the sound of the outboard cranking so Dad could get some fishing in before breakfast.
As he got older and had a few health problems, Dad’s balance got bad and he was not able to get into a boat safely, so he sold his boat, but kept all his rods and tackle boxes. He had at least three large ones along with a few worm bags and smaller storage trays. He kept them in a small shop building behind his house that had been set up for him to store his stuff. He had a chair, TV and air conditioning in it and would sit for hours staying out of Mom’s hair. The Price is Right was his favorite game show and he tried not to miss it.
Mom told me that many times she would go check on him and he would have all his old lures spread out on the floor around him. She always thought that he was just going through it all to organize it for the next trip. She would tell him they were in the way and would he please put them back so that all the grands and great-grands wouldn’t be hooked when they came to see him.
One day, I went by to say “Hi” and Mom told me Dad was out back so I went out to see him. The door to his shop was open so I was able to see him before he saw me. He was in his chair and had all his tackle laid out. He was holding one of the baits in his hand and smiling while he looked at it. It was one of those smiles that let you know that he was satisfied and at peace.
I walked into the shop and he looked up and grinned like he always did and said, “Hey, buddy!” I asked him if he was getting ready for a fishing trip, but he said no. So I asked him what he was doing and why he had all the stuff spread out, especially knowing that Mom wasn’t a fan. He looked at me and said, “Oh, these aren’t lures, they’re memories.” He paused as picked one out the pile. “See this Okey-Doke? That was the one that Sandra caught her biggest fish on at the duck blind on Lone Star.” He picked up another one: “This silver Tiny Torpedo was your favorite bait when you were learning to fish, and these grape Crème worms are the ones we used that time we tore them up at the 123 boat house,” he said as he pointed to a pile of plastic worms. The look on his face as he told these stories was radiant and wistful. He was remembering every aspect of the moment. The sun, the water, the wind, the joy of the day. I had only seen him happier when the grands were born. His life was captured in those old aluminum and plastic boxes.
If you see me standing in the aisle at tackle shop with a smile and a tear running down my face, you will know that I am not looking at baits, I am living in my memories.
Randy's Thoughts 