“And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon…”
Dateline: Memories
“He didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.”
— Clarence “Bud” Kelland on his dad
The Saturday Evening Post
“Yesterday I took my dad fishing…”
Brantley Barrow, a son of an angler
In an angry world, I long to just get a whiff of my father’s cologne, one more time.
One more time.
I long for those whiskers that laid in the sands of Omaha Beach to rub once more up against my cheeks.
One more time.
I long for the person in the Barcalounger who had all the answers to all my questions.
One more time.
I have his bedroom slippers.
I have his safety razor.
I hope I have his soul.
“Parts is parts,” Donald L. Barone Sr., would always tell me, “People is people, never confuse the two.”
“When you get a flat on the highway, call the spare tire, see if it comes for you.”
And then, “I will, you’re my son.”
“…little boy blue and the man on the moon…”
“Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.” Henry David Thoreau
Great fishing stories are not about the parts used to catch the fish, great fishing stories are about the people and who they are, and who they fish with, not about the “how” they do it but the “why.”
“Why” is what fills in the space between the day we are born and the day we die.
It is the “why” of fishing that makes tales of the bank, the pond, the lake, the boat romance stories.
Yeah I said it, romance stories, love of the outdoors, love of fishing, love of the person who handed you your first rod and reel and kept an old bucket in the bed of the truck so you would have something to sit on while you watched your red and white bobber from the bank.
And so, there comes this, a romance story of father and son, and Bobby’s last bass.
“…when you comin’ home son…”
Meet Bobby Barrow, I don’t know his age, not sure where this photo was taken, his son, Brantley, wrote this about it:
“Yesterday I took my dad fishing at the very small pond at the retirement community in which he lives. He caught three fish and lost four others.”
Bobby was a life long fishing guy, Brantley, like many of you, learned at his side:
“It really meant a lot to him, and as you can see, he is wheelchair bound and never thought he would fish again.”
Then, “I told him it was the least I could do as he is the one who started me fishing.”
I never “fished” with my father, after several years as a World War II artillery grunt, the last couple hopping from island to island in the Pacific Theater of the war, I’m pretty sure he had his fill of the outdoors.
Don Sr. was a gentle tough guy. Never was there any rage within him, he had his fill of that as well. He never once told me what he wanted me to be, he just showed me.
I, to this day, can’t look at a small brown bag and not hear him crinkling it closed down in the kitchen, early morning dark just going away.
He was a salesman, the best kind, the kind who loved people, loved to talk, loved to be honest, “Honesty comes back to you, so does dishonesty, back honesty is always best.”
Twenty-five years he stood on the floor of Sears selling appliances, six days a week, “Ain’t no overtime in the selling business.” On bad weeks he made a “draw” of $42 dollars.
Happy hour costs me more than that.
His $42 dollars raised me and my two sisters, Missy and Cheryl, none of us ever knew when it was a good week, or a draw week.
He never had his fill of raising us.
“…I don’t know when…”
A good man raises a good son. Neither perfect, perfect not possible when love is involved, perfect is math, imperfect the heart of each.
Comes though the miracle that is within all of us…kindness.
Listen once again to Brantley about that bass that Bobby caught:
“He pointed to the spot, I cast, he reeled in and when we got a bite, I helped set the hook. He reeled it in close to shore then I pulled it in. His biggest fish was between 3.5 and 4, but I told him it was 5.”
That may be the greatest romance story two sentences that I have ever read.
I told him it was 5.
I told my father everything was going to be okay even when I knew it wasn’t. My version of the 5 pounder.
I told him not to worry, he said exactly this back to me, “Thanks Billy.”
His soul knew who I was, his Alzheimer’s brain, did not.
“…but we’ll get together then son…”
In an angry world we forget about these special moments in time, between a man and his son, parents and their children.
A gentle cast into a gentle pond, son now casts for his father who once made the cast for him.
As it should be in a gentle not angry world.
An angry world takes too many children, takes too many parents, can’t imagine it is as it was supposed to be.
If you find time take your parents, take your children, take them to someplace gentle, make sure they feel gentle as much as anger.
Gentle wins.
Brantley knows that, knows the love of casting for dad, knows the love for reeling in for dad, knows the gentleness a 5-pound bass can bring to a fishing father in a wheelchair.
“It’s a 5-pounder dad.”
It was Bobby’s last bass, him and his son caught it, as it should be.
Bobby passed away last Sunday.
“…you know we’ll have a good time then.”
Cat’s in the Cradle
Harry Chapin
R.I.P., Bobby, may all your days now be gentle, may all your bass be biggins’
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