My writing continues to have a marginal impact on those who read it, but in terms of the ability of my words to influence my own behavior, I’m a ravishing success. Today I offer you the latest proof of my powers of personal persuasion: my newfound dedication to fishing. I’ve long loved fishing, but when it comes to Lake Geneva, I’m more of a lazy fisherman. If it’s a beautiful summer day, the pull of the lake can easily overwhelm me. From the moment I lock my office door, It’ll just take another 6 minutes before I’m out patrolling the waters that I so cherish. I’ll usually bring a fishing pole with, and if I decide to stop for a while to soak in some vitamin D rich rays, I’ll typically cast a lure or soak a fresh caught perch. Those moments spent under the warm Lake Geneva sun are the moments of my life that I am certain will always remain in my memory.
There is a boy in my son’s school who is battling cancer. Just writing those words makes me sick to my stomach. Without a miracle, this young boy who is not much older than my own son, will be heading home soon. It’s incredibly depressing and heartbreaking, and as I pray for this boy with my own children at night, my heart melts for him and his suffering. I think about him, and his parents and his siblings, and wish there was something I could do to help. When an email was sent out to let us know that this little guy had to leave school a couple weeks ago because he was in too much pain, I felt like I had to do something. I emailed the school back immediately and asked if there was anything the family needed. I asked if they needed money or food or anything else, but all of my offerings seemed incredibly trivial. A miracle would be nice, but aside from prayers and that corresponding miracle, there is nothing that I can do. I feel helpless, but the pain of thinking how that young boy and his family feels is more than I can deal with on any imagined level. I think of this boy often. The fact that he isn’t my own child isn’t something that I find comfort in. If my heart breaks a dozen times a day for this boy, I can only imagine how his own parents must feel.
I was born right after my older brother. I don’t mean right after in terms of 12 or 18 months after, rather I mean I was born like right after he was born. I was the younger twin born that day in May, and whereas I was brought home from the hospital officially named “Baby B”, my older brother Christian already had a proper name. They’d scratch David onto the birth certificate a few days later- in a mismatched typewriter font, presumably once my parents got over the shock of having two boys on a day when they were supposed to be only having one. My older brother, whom I’m told was the better looking and more sociable one, died one afternoon in his crib about a month before our first birthday. A button from his sleeper, presumably the same style sleeper I was wearing, caught on a button from the mattress of our crib, and he suffocated. It’s a horrible story, and one that I never fully grasped until I had children of my own. The pain that my parents went through and continue to go through is a pain that I hope I’ll never, ever have to experience.
The illness of my sons friend, and the memory of my own brother have reminded me how fragile life really is. I might not be able to help my sons friend, and I might not be able to understand exactly how my grieving parents must have felt, but what I can do is work at being a better father to my own children. As I’ve been thinking about the fickle nature of life, I’ve decided that I’m going to do more to take advantage of the times I have right now. Right now, my children are healthy, as am I. Right now, my children want to spend time with me, which is a desire that I’m sure will wane once I tell me daughter to go upstairs and change before she leaves the house, and when I tell my son that he will be driving a Dodge Rampage (Google it) when he turns 16, just like I had to. Right now, my kids want to be with me, and I desperately want to be with them.
And so we’ll fish. My son Thomas loves to fish. He’s fished his way up and down the gulf coast with me, and he’s stood beside me in streams fishing for King Salmon that were as long as he was tall. I bought him a salt water rod and reel when we were in Marco last month, and he promptly cast a rather large lure directly into the chest of a pedestrian who was walking by our fishing spot. Last summer he developed the ability to bait his own hook, cast his own line, reel in a fish, remove the fish from the hook, and gently toss the fish back into the water. As a father, that was a proud moment, and it also meant my hands could remain clean and uninvolved, able to clap with encouragement.
A couple weeks ago, I told Thomas that we’re going to go out in the boat fishing- serious fishing- one morning a week starting in early April and extending through September. Upon hearing the news, his eyes lit up like I hadn’t seen since I bought him a $10 Transformer at Walmart a week prior. Last Sunday afternoon we drove to Gander Mountain to look at depth finders and peruse the fishing sections, all the while making mental notes of the added supplies we’d need to purchase if we were truly going to be serious fishermen. And we’re not going fishing in a Cobalt, instead preferring to pay tribute to my Grandfather by employing a 16′ Alumacraft that was long his fishing boat of choice. No bells and whistles, no shiny chrome, just a 16′ boat that most would look at and mock.
While we walked the aisles, we talked about where we’ll fish this summer. The stream at Uhlein’s certainly, and most obviously the rocky edges of Conference Point. We talked about the bait we’ll use- perch when we can catch them, and crayfish when the water is warm enough to don our masks and turn over the rocks in the shallow water by my dad’s pier. We spent a couple hours imagining warm summer days, and when I promised we’d stop and buy two donuts before we left the pier, that officially made the weekly summer fishing trip the most anticipated event of my young son’s life.
I cannot comprehend the pain of watching a child endure a life threatening illness, nor can I understand the heartbreak of losing a son in a terrible accident. But I can make a promise to enjoy my children more, and to spend more time with them. I’m going to make this summer count, and I’m not going to approach it with the irreverent thought that summers are anything but magical. When we catch a lunker, I’ll be sure to post pictures on this site. If you find four posts a week in the summer instead of five, at least now you’ll know what is keeping me from my desk. I might not be the best dad in the world, but for one morning every week this summer, I know a six year old boy who couldn’t be convinced otherwise.
If you’re the sort, say a prayer for young Jacob and his family today.