Fish Hooked

I went fishing with my youngest son on his 13th birthday.

My buddy Walter says fishing with his dad and brother was a great part of coming of age. “I love those times,” he says.

Last time Tommy and I fished I hooked my wife by casting in a kind of bizarrely pathetic boomerang motion. I was hopeful this fishing expedition would be less stressful and painful, but I had low expectations.

One time I fish-hooked my buddy Troy when we were skipping school and his dad had to bring him to the ER. The problem is fish hooks have a rigged shape so the ER doctor couldn’t just rip off the hook like you would out on Golden Pond; otherwise Troy’s scalp, yes his scalp, would bleed a lot. He ended up losing part of head that day.

Medical costs due to fish injuries are unlikely a major problem, nothing like viruses and mental health and diabetes. But if you’re in my boat, maybe take cover. That’s my family did anyways, at one point the entire crew dropped their bait starboard while I cast on the port side. The boat leaned like in Jaws. But even the spacing didn’t matter. Thirty minutes in I had already cut my finger and managed to wrap my line around my wife and Tommy. “How in the world!” Tommy said, frustrated but laughing. He too had low expectations. And so it goes with me and fishing. I don’t have much trouble catching things, just not fish.