Fishing

Here's a quick story about a father and son.

I sit there in the dinghy with nothing but a fishing rod in my hands.

"Dad? When is something going to happen?"

"Any minute now, Charlie."

That's the same thing he said an HOUR ago. I think I'm going insane. Dad is concentrating on the water, as if when he looks away it'll be gone. He said this would be relaxing. He said it would be a BONDING experience, yet the only words that have left his mouth are, "Any minute now, Charlie." Dad doesn't care about me. This is just some stupid obsession of his that he can't do alone for some reason. I look at the murky water and I weigh the chances of being able to swim back. Never mind. I can't abandon my dad. I don't like him, but I have to be nice to him. It's just the way it is. I try to start a conversation.

"So dad, why do you like fishing?"

"I dunno."

Yep. That's my dad. Ever so entertaining. Wait. I feel a pull. It's a fish! I wrestle with the rod, imagining a giant fish thrashing around in the water. I've caught dad's attention. His eyes fill with happiness, urging me to pull harder. I finally get it out. It's a boot. All enthusiasm drains from dad's eyes. Without a word, he goes back to watching the water. Why can't he at least applaud my effort?!? I sigh, put my rod down, and stand up, dad not noticing at all. I'm swimming back.