Father's Day

My sister called while we were out in the boat this morning-- leave it to my mom to bring her cell phone out on the water.
"I hate those damn things," dad said, shaking his head and hanging up after his brief chat. He's got one, but never has it on, and certainly would never have it out with him in his most holy of holies: the lake. Mom would never have her phone on in church (well, not intentionally), but she's got it along today, cracking the silence with it's "brringingbringging" shrillness.
I feel bad for Merna, knowing that she wanted to spend today with dad, or tomorrow, his birthday, but didn't have the option. She probably would have taken work off even, a rare thing for her, but dad wasn't having it. He wanted to spend the day on the lake, not eating dinner in some restaurant or sitting around at home. And why shouldn't he? Father's Day, his birthday.. it's like me and Christmas, my birthday. I'm gonna do what I damn well please. Gee, I wonder who set that example...

Father's day is something I look forward to each year, and each year I tell myself I'll have something special to write about dad, something that can be published in Walleye Insider or some other angler magazine he reads. I envision it being some sort of warm fuzzy article about my first fishing pole, or my first fishing memory, something like that. But it never happens, mostly because the words never seem right. I don't know how to honor my dad for all of the things he's done for me, or the way he's led by example, and words seem to fall short.
So I just come home. From where ever I might be. I come home, and we fish. There's no need for words or explanations or warm, fuzzy feelings out on the water. We just... are. Together. And that's all that there needs to be.
This year, this fishing trip we're on now though, it's our last one with the boat we've had for almost 20 years, and with any luck, there'll be a story in it for next year. There's a story in everything we do, I guess, I just want it to be the right one, a fitting tribute to him and my respect for our relationship. If I don't write it, he won't read it, but he won't read this either, and I'm writing it anyway. I'm not sure where the disconnect between my goals in writing the other thing and actually producing it exists, but somehow, it does.
For now though, as the sun sets and we pack our stuff for our 5 am boat launch, all that matters is the conversation we've shared, the laughter, the warmth of the sun a glowing afterthought to a day well-spent.Thanks dad, for everything. Here's to another sunrise, another trip... another year.