It’s a familiar scenario. Packages arrive from online retailers, filled with puzzling items that elicit your disdain. Tiny plastic frogs, bizarre fuzzy creatures with vibrant red hair, and a massive box containing knee-high rubber boots. You find assorted small containers to stash these items, leashes for securing them, and an array of hooks and bobbers in the classic red-and-white design.
Your household boasts at least eight or ten fishing rods, despite the fact that only a handful of individuals actually engage in fishing — and one of them is a toddler, who, in all fairness, shouldn’t even count. Yet, he has his own Paw Patrol fishing gear, further solidifying the family’s affinity for angling. As the sole non-fisher in the family, you often feel like a reluctant participant in the fishing escapade.
The mornings usually begin at the crack of dawn. Your partner, Jake, quietly slips out before sunrise, armed with rods and an array of gear to catch those elusive fish. He spends the early hours by the river, where majestic bald eagles and herons can be seen. Ospreys call out, and he reels in catches of bass, striper, and sunfish, basking in the golden glow of dawn. He stays until nearly 9 a.m.
Meanwhile, you awaken to the sound of a toddler shouting, “I peeeed!” Realizing it’s your little one, you drag yourself out of bed, change his urine-soaked pajamas, and wrestle him into clothes he detests. In the living room, he clamors for cartoons like Octonauts or Ninjago. You stumble into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, and manage to reheat your coffee. But by then, he’s clamoring for toast, which leads to yet another commotion as another family member wakes up and demands the same. Your coffee alerts you that it’s ready, but you’re too occupied to enjoy it. Once the toast is finally distributed, you collapse onto the couch, guzzling coffee while the kids are glued to the television. This is the scene Jake returns to, looking invigorated and smelling of catfish.
Then come the family fishing excursions. You attempt to make the best of it by bringing along a book, clutching it while everyone trekked through the woods to find a suitable fishing spot. Naturally, the kids all require assistance simultaneously: a bobber here, a hook untangled there, or a fresh worm. With Jake also occupied with fishing, you end up on worm-stabbing duty.
Mosquitos abound, and when a fish is caught, the kids express their disappointment at not being the ones to reel it in. Another fish might be caught moments later, creating a brief moment of excitement. However, the unhooking process is gruesome — blood oozes from the gills, and if the task falls to anyone but Jake, the fish is likely to be dropped. It flops around helplessly, and you find yourself shouting for someone to pick it up. They do, posing for countless pictures with their slimy catch before releasing it back into the water, where it swims away dazed.
This cycle repeats itself, or the fishing becomes frustrating as no one catches anything. You sit there, absorbed in your book, but as emotions run high and tears flow, you’re involuntarily drawn into the chaos.
Between the chaos, you could opt to stay home, and the offer is always on the table. However, you know you’d just sulk, feeling selfish and missing the joy the kids experience when they catch a fish, no matter how repulsive you find it. Staying home would lead to boredom, and you’d end up cleaning or even napping, which, while tempting, wouldn’t compare to the gleeful faces of your children — no matter how much you dislike the activity that brings them joy.
So, you join in. You bring your book but end up impaled by nightcrawlers on hooks that are waved in front of your face or accidentally cast into your hair. They offer to let you hold the fish, and you politely decline. It’s a sweet gesture, a form of love you find off-putting, as fishing is not your cup of tea. Yet, you’re grateful for their happiness, even when you find yourself stuck with the kids or assigned to the less glamorous task of worm preparation during family outings.
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In summary, the experience of accompanying a fishing-loving family when you have no interest in fishing can be both challenging and rewarding. Despite the chaos and discomfort, it’s the joy of your loved ones that ultimately makes it worthwhile, even if you’d rather be doing something else entirely.
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