When S is gone, I do my best to stand in for him, trying to be both mother and father. I taught all three boys to ride their bikes without training wheels. I taught the older two how to lay a fire in the fireplace this past winter. It think I do a pretty good job of it most times.
However, this was not the case with fishing.
Each boy got a new rod and reel this Easter next to their Easter bucket. They were all so excited they wanted to skip church and head for the nearest tank. (Read that pond, for those of you not from the South.) I let Ian open his rod first and in less than five minutes we were all a tangled mess and one mama was in tears with the mess.
We put the rods up on top of papas surfboards in the garage and headed to church and I prayed for forgiveness for the ugly thoughts that had been floating around in my head on a less than holy Easter morning.
And then S returned. The rods were out again. Lines were untangled...with patience this time. Bobbers and weights and hooks were attached, with one parent instructing and one playing safety patrol. Aaahhh...It worked so much better this way.
The lesson of the day for one of my boys was catching his first fish, a little white crappie (that's pronounced cr(o)ppie, not cr(a)ppie). And this lesson for me had nothing to do with how to hold a rod, or about how fast to reel in a spinner. It was all about the fact that there will be more and more things that only he can teach them. And Im supposed to just sit back, let go a little at a time and watch them grow into men. Hopefully, a lot like their papa.