Braving Boys

Catch and Release

There’s not a whole lot this boy loves. Well, he does have a fondness for candy, his iPod Touch, lounging on his bed watching TV, and most anything that costs us money and counts as a toy or a treat. But out of all the life-enriching activities endorsed by us, the parents, there’s really only one biggie that makes the cut — fishing. (Well, there is gardening, too, but it comes in a distant second.)

Joey is good at lots of things, like school, piano, drama, football, and basketball, but none of these register as favorites in any way, shape, or form. Sure, he likes to tackle me in the aisles of Walmart just for fun, toss the ball around with his dad in random fields, and crush his little brother in backyard hoops. Put him on a team, though, or anything formal and organized, and while he’ll play along, he won’t be all that interested. A boat, now, or a dock — transport him to one or the other, and a happy boy, you will see. It’s beautiful, really, how our boy, who first started challenging us the day he was born, can become so still, peaceful, and patient. He has no problem rising in the wee and dark hours of the morning, trekking all over the state of Florida, working tirelessly for a good catch and release or a cast net full of shrimp, and while he does have a bit of an issue with cleaning the boat, he does it, because he knows it’s part of the deal.

I don’t know how it happened — how he came to pick fish over footballs — but ask him to head out to the water, and he’s there, content for the long haul, and plotting out the next big trip. Will his love affair continue? I’m not sure. But for now, we’re embracing this hobby that makes our boy happier than anything else in this big world. (Oh, and for good measure, we’re also forcing him to stick with piano, because, have you ever known an adult who gave up on lessons as a kid who doesn’t now regret the decision? Well, we haven’t, and if you have, please don’t tell Joey or Danny.)

“Let’s stop catching the fish,” I told Joey on Tuesday as he was throwing his cast net into the ocean at Cedar Key and scoring handfuls of baby fish, whose heads were getting stuck in the holes of the net. For the most part, the fish were surviving — Joey captured them, then he and Danny plucked them from the tangles and plunged them into a bucket of water — but we lost one, and that made me sad.

“Mom,” Joey said, “This is fishing. You catch fish, and some die. There are lots of fish in the world.”

Fair enough, I thought, and so I let Joey continue pulling in fish after fish. Then I saw the sign:

No Fishing or Swimming Allowed.

“Joey, I just noticed this sign,” I said, pointing. My almost third grader turned, read the words we both missed when we first arrived on the dock and said: “Uh-Oh, we better go.”

“Yep, we better.”

And we did.

And after a few minutes of admiring what he’d worked so hard for, Joey set his family of fish free into the waters of the West coast. And that made me feel so much better.