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tourbi
Age: 57 Zodiac: 
| Joined: 09 Jan 2008 |
| Posts: 2640 |
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Location: tourbiland, at the foot of Pikes Peak, USA
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 Posted: Wed Jul 16, 2008 3:45 pm |
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The Empty Hook
Anne Carter
My parents shared a love of the outdoors, especially fishing. We lived in New York City, and opportunities to pursue these passions were few. When I was ten years old, my father decided we would spend part of our summer on the eastern end of Long Island. I was overjoyed at the thought of being out of the hot city and spending quality time with my beloved parents. Dad rented a small cottage on the bay that included the use of a rowboat. Each morning we would push off and row to an inlet where we fished from the shore. My dad also had a handmade crab trap, and mother dug for clams in the sand with her toes.
Directly across the way was a vast estate, and tied to its dock was an enormous yacht. My mother referred to it as the “Miniature Queen Mary.” Every day a very well-dressed older man was helped out to the end of the dock by a servant who set up a chair for him and handed him his fishing pole. We could tell by the thick dark glasses he wore and the way he was guided out onto the dock that he was blind.
I watched the man with great interest. He sat for hours, never reeling in his fishing line to see if he had caught anything. My parents agreed if we owned such a magnificent yacht, we would be out on it, fishing every day. The man was quite a mystery to me, and I hoped to get his attention by calling out to him every day as we left for home. “Bye mister, see you tomorrow!” I would yell. He never answered.
My curiosity grew with each passing day, and when I couldn’t take it anymore, I set out on a mission. I was allowed to ride my bike after dinner one warm evening. I rode out toward the inlet, which didn’t appear to be that far away; however, it took nearly an hour of riding before I sighted the old man’s house. I stopped on the side of the road when I heard a car pull up behind me and watched as the driver got out and opened the back door for the passenger. It was the older man whom I had watched fishing every day.
He told me I was trespassing on private property. I apologized, but continued by saying, “Sir, I came out here to say hello to you in person. I watch you fish every day from the other side of the inlet and you never catch a thing. I thought I could help you.” The man cut me off with his laughter.
“How old are you, child?” he asked.
“I’m ten years old and my name is Anne and I love to fish and my parents love to fish and we live in the city and. . . .” Once again I was stopped by his very hearty laugh.
“Young lady, you’re quite a chatterbox. It’s getting very late. I think we’d better get you home to your parents before they start to worry about you.”
My bike was loaded into the trunk and I arrived home that evening in a shiny black limousine. My parents, both in shock, but grateful for my return, invited the gentleman in for coffee and dessert, and he accepted. He sat in our small kitchen eating my mother’s homemade crumb cake and told us the story of his life.
He had been blinded in a terrible accident that years ago had taken the life of his wife and his only child, a son. Although a man of wealth, nothing mattered to him after the accident. He sold his business, shunned the rest of his family and friends, and became a recluse. He said that he had bought the yacht for his son who loved to fish, and added that when his son died, he vowed never to take the boat out, and never go fishing again.
I had been listening quietly, but at this point I couldn’t help myself and blurted out, “But mister, I see you fishing on your dock every day!”
My parents gave me the look that told me I should have remained silent.
The man said, “You’re right, Anne. You do see me with a fishing pole in my hand every day, but I never put any bait on my hook. I just sit on the dock and reflect on the times when fishing meant so much to me and my family.”
I thought for a moment, then said, “I bet your son is very sad when he looks down from heaven and sees you so unhappy.”
This time my parents hushed me with more than a look.
After a long pause the man said, “Your daughter’s right.
What an old fool I’ve been.”
A few days later, the limousine arrived for us, and we spent the day on the yacht on beautiful Long Island Sound—FISHING. It was a day not to be forgotten. That night I thought about the smile on the man’s face when I thanked him.
“No,” he said, “I must thank you, as today was my happiest day in years.” I gave him a big hug and he hugged me back.
Years have come and gone since that day. Life has many pleasures for me today. I don’t get to go fishing very often, but I have a very full schedule. I have a wonderful husband, children and grandchildren, and I reside on Long Island. I hold fast to a lesson that I learned when I was just ten years old. Life is what you make of it. I treasure a picture that sits on my desk, faded with age, but a joy to behold. It shows a man smiling and holding a very large fish that he had just caught. The words written under the photo make me smile even after all these years. It simply says, “To Anne—Life will never be an empty hook again. THANK YOU!”
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