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Fishing With Dad I can still see the fishing pole he made from a tree branch - knobby and thin, but as I held it in my hands I felt powerful. He took a small piece of bologna and gingerly threaded it on the hook at the end of the branch. He explained it all as he did it-how the fish would see the food, swim toward it, try to eat it, and the hook would find it's mouth and the pole would pull in my hands and I would know I had a catch. He came from a fishing family. I have photos of him and his brother and mom in a boat, holding lots of big, fat fish. The only photo where they all looked happy together. After about an hour, I felt the pole shake, and yelled I got one! My father came running, told me to be steady and pull it up slow. It was a small sunfish, a yellow orange glowing sun. So beautiful. It shook on the end of the pole, as if to free itself. I didn't understand. I thought they knew.


SPIRACLE JOURNAL Volume I Issue No. 1  

Re. In. Vent.

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