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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: Fri Jul 18, 2008 3:14 pm |
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A Fathers Love
Donald Zimmermann
Nearly fifty years ago, during one of my summer college vacations, my father drove me to my favorite fishing spot at Candlewood Lake in western Connecticut. The winding country road paralleled a beautiful little stream, about thirty feet wide, which flowed into the lake. As I soaked up the passing scenery, I decided to tell him about an idea I had been visualizing for several weeks, even if he thought it was outrageous.
We had taken this route many times before and had established a now-familiar routine. My father would bring me to the lake, carry my wheelchair to an easy location at the water’s edge and then carry me to my wheelchair. He’d make one more trip from the car to bring me my fishing rod, spinning reel and tackle box, which also contained my snack. My mother was sure I’d get hungry.
Despite my cerebral palsy, I had found unique ways to cast my lure between fifty and one hundred feet. The biggest trick was how to hang onto the line after releasing the bail, and then let go of it at the right moment while casting. Believe me, there was a lot of trial and error in the backyard before I finally got the technique just right.
Truthfully, I never cared whether I caught any fish or not. I wanted to be out in nature by myself for awhile, just like other people. My father, another nature lover, understood perfectly well and, by mutual agreement, he would leave me at the lake for three or four hours before returning to pick me up. Only once did he have to return earlier than planned because of a sudden downpour; I was pretty wet by the time he arrived, but it really didn’t matter. In fact, it was fun.
But on this particular day I asked him to pull over to the side of the road where we could easily see the gently moving stream.
“See that big rock out there in the middle?” I asked him.
“That flat one?” my father asked.
I had a hunch he knew what I was going to ask next. “Yes. Do you think you could carry me out there?”
He laughed at first, then said, “Let me take a look.” I watched him walk to the edge of the stream, scouting for a way to step from rock to rock without getting wet. Then he began stepping carefully across the water until he was on my desired location. Though getting there did not look easy, he didn’t get wet and it was obvious, as he looked all around, that he enjoyed the short journey. When he came back to the car, he said, “So you really want to fish out there?”
“Yes, I’d love to. I’ve always envied guys who fish standing in the water up to their knees or higher in the middle of a fast-moving stream. Several weeks ago, when we drove by here, I noticed that rock and thought it looked perfect for me, if you can just get me out there.”
“Well, I’m game if you are,” he said. So we began our routine, but in a different location this time. I watched him set up my wheelchair in the middle of the rock, making sure to put the brakes on, a very necessary precaution, especially in this case. Then he came back for me. Truly, I was a little scared as we went from one small rock to another because he could not use his arms for balancing as needed, but we somehow made it across the water. We were both relieved when I was sitting safely in my chair. After bringing me my usual equipment, he said he would return in a couple of hours.
And then I was alone.
The sounds of the rushing water got louder and it seemed to flow faster, as if saying, “What are you doing out here?” But I knew it was only my imagination and some of my fear of being there all by myself. “What ifs” began popping into my consciousness: What if Moby Dick grabs my lure and pulls me off this rock? What if the water rises? What if someone sees me out here and calls the fire or police department to rescue me? I quickly told myself how silly I was being and started appreciating how awesome the site truly was.
I began fishing and noticed that I could let the water’s current carry my lure away instead of me casting it. I liked that. Fishermen really don’t want to work too hard. Reeling it back to me was easy, despite the tug of the current, and I soon felt wonderfully calm as my lure went out and back, out and back. It was a beautiful day, and time flew by.
My father came back for me a little early that afternoon, but it didn’t matter. I hadn’t caught a thing, except great personal satisfaction from fulfilling a small dream. I also gained an awareness of how much my father loved me. He demonstrated it many times throughout my life, willingly taking risks for me, so that I too might experience what everyone else does.
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