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Molding a Fisherman

The other day a friend of mine asked me to go sun-fishing with him and his eleven-year-old son. I thought about all the things I had to do and just about turned him down. But, then thinking if a dad wants to take his son fishing, there's nothing ...

The other day a friend of mine asked me to go sun-fishing with him and his eleven-year-old son. I thought about all the things I had to do and just about turned him down. But, then thinking if a dad wants to take his son fishing, there's nothing better than a father and son fishing.

It was a beautiful spring day so we headed for the lake. We got the boat in the water and were all set to fish. However, the motor would not start. Finally the boat captain discovered the trouble, it was a cracked fuel-line. The rubber hose connected to the fuel tank had rotted and cracked. Our captain and guide cut off the bad end, worked it back on the connection and we were ready to fish, I thought.

All the time we were sitting in the boat waiting to get it going, the eleven-year-old was shooting a pellet gun. He was shooting the leaves on the over-hanging trees, shooting the water, the air and anything that floated by. All this time I was daydreaming about how peaceful it was fishing with my dad, with a cane pole on the Milk River bank. And if the cane pole broke, because one caught a big catfish, then you would cut a willow pole, and there were plenty of them along the riverbank.

With the motor going we started to fish, that is except for the pellet shooter. He kept shooting! He shot my bobber, he shot my bait, and even the air. Then when he wasn't shooting, he was on his cell phone talking to a friend back home. The would be fisherman was telling his buddy about all the fun we were having fishing. Oh I guess he did fish for a few minutes. But, he was saying, to his buddy, about all the fun he was having fishing.

I started day dreaming again, that's what saved me from cracking up. I thought it too bad with all the modern fishing equipment, big boats and motors, this lad will never know the joy, peace and quiet of cutting a willow pole and fishing along a lazy river bank. By now you've probably guessed that the friend was also my son and the pellet shooting lad was my grandson. My prayer is that he will become a fisherman like his dad wants, and a fisher of men, like his grandpa wants

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