Rapper's Delight is playing.
Today the fam went to one of our summer hang outs, the Hale Reservation, with some of our friends to swim, canoe, and fish. Sumner and I love to fish. After several hours of swimming and boating, he and I decided to go fish.
For me, fishing is a constant gamble and I love it. Each time I cast the line, I believe that this time I will catch a fish. When I get a nibble, my hopes grow. If we don't reel it in, I can't wait to get back in there and risk some more bait.
I handed Sumner his half-size Scooby Doo pole and grabbed some of our friend's left over string cheese for bait. The Hale Reservation is a stocked pond and last August we caught fish every few minutes (except for the one time when Phil turned on the video camera last summer to document the phenomenon). I usually use worms or hot dogs for bait, but we caught fish with bagels and corn at the Hale, so I figured string cheese could work.
Sumner is a patient fish man. When I cast my line, I am already looking for a reason to reel it in and cast again. Did it catch on some seaweed? Did the bait fall off? Is it in the sweet spot? Sumner has a different chemistry than me and all of the other six year olds in the world. He casts his line, once, and sits down on the edge of the pond and just waits. This kills me. I want to know I am doing something to catch one; Sumner the Wise knows that it is best to just wait.
We were the only people fishing, so Sumner picked a spot, cast his line and plopped down on the sand, getting his shirt all wet and sandy. I painstakingly made no comment on the muddy shirt and tried to settle in to wait a minute or two, before I started to pester him about reeling it in and casting again. About half a minute later, a little girl in a Strawberry Shortcake swimsuit, who was about Sumner's age, approached us. This bold little stranger asked Sumner if she could try the pole.
Sumner said light-heartedly, "Sure." He immediately reeled in his line and passed it over to her. I was so proud. Sumner is not always the best sharer, but here he was giving the little girl his pole selflessly. I was mused that people watching us must think he has great parents.
This little girl had quite an arm. She grabbed the pole and got down to business. She was my kind of fisher: quick, conjecturing about the fish and bait, and not waiting or pausing just to see what might happen. She was casting out further that Sumner and I ever dreamed of casting. Sumner just smiled and watched.
Today the fam went to one of our summer hang outs, the Hale Reservation, with some of our friends to swim, canoe, and fish. Sumner and I love to fish. After several hours of swimming and boating, he and I decided to go fish.
For me, fishing is a constant gamble and I love it. Each time I cast the line, I believe that this time I will catch a fish. When I get a nibble, my hopes grow. If we don't reel it in, I can't wait to get back in there and risk some more bait.
I handed Sumner his half-size Scooby Doo pole and grabbed some of our friend's left over string cheese for bait. The Hale Reservation is a stocked pond and last August we caught fish every few minutes (except for the one time when Phil turned on the video camera last summer to document the phenomenon). I usually use worms or hot dogs for bait, but we caught fish with bagels and corn at the Hale, so I figured string cheese could work.
Sumner is a patient fish man. When I cast my line, I am already looking for a reason to reel it in and cast again. Did it catch on some seaweed? Did the bait fall off? Is it in the sweet spot? Sumner has a different chemistry than me and all of the other six year olds in the world. He casts his line, once, and sits down on the edge of the pond and just waits. This kills me. I want to know I am doing something to catch one; Sumner the Wise knows that it is best to just wait.
We were the only people fishing, so Sumner picked a spot, cast his line and plopped down on the sand, getting his shirt all wet and sandy. I painstakingly made no comment on the muddy shirt and tried to settle in to wait a minute or two, before I started to pester him about reeling it in and casting again. About half a minute later, a little girl in a Strawberry Shortcake swimsuit, who was about Sumner's age, approached us. This bold little stranger asked Sumner if she could try the pole.
Sumner said light-heartedly, "Sure." He immediately reeled in his line and passed it over to her. I was so proud. Sumner is not always the best sharer, but here he was giving the little girl his pole selflessly. I was mused that people watching us must think he has great parents.
This little girl had quite an arm. She grabbed the pole and got down to business. She was my kind of fisher: quick, conjecturing about the fish and bait, and not waiting or pausing just to see what might happen. She was casting out further that Sumner and I ever dreamed of casting. Sumner just smiled and watched.
Then she cast again, flipping off the string cheese with the full force of her little arm. She demanded more bait and kept going. She was taking over the pole. She cast about 10 times. Sumner was still smiling and chatting with her about the fish that were nibbling whenever the bobber bounced. Finally, I had to jump in. I was not here to be a hook-baiter for some strange child.
"Um, Lillian," I said (We had become familiar), "I think Sumner wants a turn. He has been waiting to fish all day and he just got started before you came. Why don't you let him have a turn?"
"Okay," she said to me, and turned to continue casting and conversing with Sumner.
A couple of casts later I said, "Okay, Sumner's turn."
Sumner took the pole, cast the line, sat down, and said to Lillian, "We can take turns. You can go next."
"Um, Lillian," I said (We had become familiar), "I think Sumner wants a turn. He has been waiting to fish all day and he just got started before you came. Why don't you let him have a turn?"
"Okay," she said to me, and turned to continue casting and conversing with Sumner.
A couple of casts later I said, "Okay, Sumner's turn."
Sumner took the pole, cast the line, sat down, and said to Lillian, "We can take turns. You can go next."
I wanted to scream at Sumner. Couldn't he see what kind of a little woman he was dealing with? She was not going to take one turn for his one turn. She would take seven. She was taking advantage of him. She would never let him be her equal. She didn't know how to share. She was trouble. I knew her type. He smiled at her more.
Sure enough, after one measly cast, he passed it back to her. After instructing me on how to bait the hook again, she took control of the pole and cast the line a bunch more times. Sumner was not bothered, but I kept nagging her, "Sumner really should take another turn. Lillian, I actually want a turn too. I think you have had enough turns."
Finally she got the message or got bored with manipulating my precious son and went back to swimming. At that very moment a whole gaggle of kids and a parent came up. Now one thing about fishing that is worth some thought is: there is a hook involved. It kind of worries me sometimes. Whenever someone, myself included, flings the line over his or her shoulder, you never know how the Scooby pole will do. I have visions of the hook catching on someone's shirt or nose ring or belly button. So, when these spectators started flocking to us, I got worried. One unknown mother and her sons waded into the water in front of us, which is strictly prohibited at the fishing part of the pond by one of the Hale's rigid water rules. I politely asked this mother to move, while looking over my shoulder to see where a vicious rule-enforcing lifeguard was when you need one. I also told Sumner, who is totally unaware of personal space issues, to move down the beach further to avoid catching a toddler's pigtails. These vulnerable spectators moved with us.
After a couple of casts, while I was baiting the hook with more string cheese, a 10-year old boy with little evident social graces, demanded, "Let me have a turn."
"Hello," I said, "What's your name?"
He muttered something unintelligible. I asked again. "D-E-M-A, Dee-ma," he said with one hand on Sumner's pole. Sumner let him have it and said, "I'm going to go get some of that turkey bacon that Kira brought. It will work better for bait," and he turned and sauntered towards our towels and cooler.
Meanwhile Dema had taken control of the pole. He has the naked hook over his shoulder and is about ready to cast it. "Do you know how to do this?" I checked as the bobber drops onto the sand behind him. "Of course I do," he snapped.
As I untangled the line, I gave D-E-M-A a few tips. He nodded, softening for the first time, and had at it--wildly flipping the pole in many directions. Every couple of casts he realized that he had no bait and turned to me, waiting at a safe distance, for help. We untangled the line several times; once I even removed the hook from his shirt.
Sumner was no where to be seen. I told Dema that I'd be right back and left him with our pole to hook some poor person's eyelid. I started out towards our towel. About 25 steps from where we were fishing, Sumner came into my sight. He was examining every corner and pocket in our cooler, not Kira's, for the bacon and stumbled onto some breakfast bars. His eyes lit up with this discovery. I called him name about 15 times in my best, booming, middle-school-teacher voice as I walked towards him. "Can I eat this?" he eagerly asked once he finally saw me, as I was in spitting range.
I agreed and sent him over to the special eating area, because I follow the rigid rules of the Hale Reservation in fear that the omnipresent lifeguards might get me, although they never seem available to help me. He chowed the bar in about two bites and I got the bait bacon. As soon as Sumner saw it, his eyes lit up even brighter, "Can I eat that bacon Mom? Please can I have that.”?
"Sumner," I scolded, "We are fishing. This is bait. We are going to go catch a fish." With that I started to walk back to Dema and our possibly damaged pole. I turned back to a baffled Sumner and waved a quarter of the piece of bacon at him. He scurried to catch up with me and gobbled it up.
Back at our sweet spot, I ran Dema off and took over the pole for myself. Sumner found an abandoned bucket and filled it with water for the fish we would catch. I handed him the bacon and told him that he could bait the hook. He cooperated, but it is difficult to bait a hook when you don't want to touch the hook. I got to work, trying to get just one damn fish before someone else bothered us. The next time I looked at him, he was crumbling up our bait into the bucket of water, probably taking a few bits for himself. He caught my glance, grinned, and said, "I'm filling the bucket with food so that we can fed the fish when we catch him. Can I have a turn?"
I wanted to scream, "NO, can't you just let me fish!" But I held it together and passed the pole back to its owner. For what seemed like the third time that day, he cast the line. While he was patiently waiting and daydreaming, I saw the bob go underwater and watched the line move from the left to the right. "Bring it in," I shouted and he calmly did. I took the hook out with my bare hands and we watched it eat the bacon bits together for awhile. When he was ready he threw it back in, still smiling.
Sure enough, after one measly cast, he passed it back to her. After instructing me on how to bait the hook again, she took control of the pole and cast the line a bunch more times. Sumner was not bothered, but I kept nagging her, "Sumner really should take another turn. Lillian, I actually want a turn too. I think you have had enough turns."
Finally she got the message or got bored with manipulating my precious son and went back to swimming. At that very moment a whole gaggle of kids and a parent came up. Now one thing about fishing that is worth some thought is: there is a hook involved. It kind of worries me sometimes. Whenever someone, myself included, flings the line over his or her shoulder, you never know how the Scooby pole will do. I have visions of the hook catching on someone's shirt or nose ring or belly button. So, when these spectators started flocking to us, I got worried. One unknown mother and her sons waded into the water in front of us, which is strictly prohibited at the fishing part of the pond by one of the Hale's rigid water rules. I politely asked this mother to move, while looking over my shoulder to see where a vicious rule-enforcing lifeguard was when you need one. I also told Sumner, who is totally unaware of personal space issues, to move down the beach further to avoid catching a toddler's pigtails. These vulnerable spectators moved with us.
After a couple of casts, while I was baiting the hook with more string cheese, a 10-year old boy with little evident social graces, demanded, "Let me have a turn."
"Hello," I said, "What's your name?"
He muttered something unintelligible. I asked again. "D-E-M-A, Dee-ma," he said with one hand on Sumner's pole. Sumner let him have it and said, "I'm going to go get some of that turkey bacon that Kira brought. It will work better for bait," and he turned and sauntered towards our towels and cooler.
Meanwhile Dema had taken control of the pole. He has the naked hook over his shoulder and is about ready to cast it. "Do you know how to do this?" I checked as the bobber drops onto the sand behind him. "Of course I do," he snapped.
As I untangled the line, I gave D-E-M-A a few tips. He nodded, softening for the first time, and had at it--wildly flipping the pole in many directions. Every couple of casts he realized that he had no bait and turned to me, waiting at a safe distance, for help. We untangled the line several times; once I even removed the hook from his shirt.
Sumner was no where to be seen. I told Dema that I'd be right back and left him with our pole to hook some poor person's eyelid. I started out towards our towel. About 25 steps from where we were fishing, Sumner came into my sight. He was examining every corner and pocket in our cooler, not Kira's, for the bacon and stumbled onto some breakfast bars. His eyes lit up with this discovery. I called him name about 15 times in my best, booming, middle-school-teacher voice as I walked towards him. "Can I eat this?" he eagerly asked once he finally saw me, as I was in spitting range.
I agreed and sent him over to the special eating area, because I follow the rigid rules of the Hale Reservation in fear that the omnipresent lifeguards might get me, although they never seem available to help me. He chowed the bar in about two bites and I got the bait bacon. As soon as Sumner saw it, his eyes lit up even brighter, "Can I eat that bacon Mom? Please can I have that.”?
"Sumner," I scolded, "We are fishing. This is bait. We are going to go catch a fish." With that I started to walk back to Dema and our possibly damaged pole. I turned back to a baffled Sumner and waved a quarter of the piece of bacon at him. He scurried to catch up with me and gobbled it up.
Back at our sweet spot, I ran Dema off and took over the pole for myself. Sumner found an abandoned bucket and filled it with water for the fish we would catch. I handed him the bacon and told him that he could bait the hook. He cooperated, but it is difficult to bait a hook when you don't want to touch the hook. I got to work, trying to get just one damn fish before someone else bothered us. The next time I looked at him, he was crumbling up our bait into the bucket of water, probably taking a few bits for himself. He caught my glance, grinned, and said, "I'm filling the bucket with food so that we can fed the fish when we catch him. Can I have a turn?"
I wanted to scream, "NO, can't you just let me fish!" But I held it together and passed the pole back to its owner. For what seemed like the third time that day, he cast the line. While he was patiently waiting and daydreaming, I saw the bob go underwater and watched the line move from the left to the right. "Bring it in," I shouted and he calmly did. I took the hook out with my bare hands and we watched it eat the bacon bits together for awhile. When he was ready he threw it back in, still smiling.
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