Show Me

By Don Tassone

Show Me

It was four in the morning, but Mother didn’t have to work hard to wake me. As soon as she whispered my name, I knew what day it was. It was the day Daddy would take my younger brother and me fishing, a once-a-summer adventure.

We jumped out of bed and got dressed in the dark. When we got to the dining room, Mother had breakfast waiting. As we ate, she packed our lunches in the kitchen and filled Dad-dy’s tall, red plaid Thermos with hot coffee.

Daddy appeared, clean-shaven and smelling like Mennen Skin Bracer.

“Ready?” he said.

Daddy was a man of action.

He had stowed our fishing gear in the trunk of our Dodge Dart the night before. We tossed in our sack lunches, and Daddy carefully laid in his Thermos. Mother kissed us all goodbye, and we were off.

We drove through the darkness. At last we arrived at Springdale Lake. It was a pay lake, so we went directly to a small white building to pay the fee and buy worms.

An older lady was the only one there. She was sitting in a chair when we came in. A metal shoe horn clanged against the glass door as we opened it, and the noise woke her up. I suppose we were her first customers.

After we settled up, we set out to find a good fishing spot. The lake was large, and we walked around the bank for a long time until Daddy found a place he liked.

My brother and I had bamboo poles. Daddy had a rod and reel that looked like it had been designed by NASA engineers. We watched in awe as he set our lines.

Before we could get our lines in the water, though, we encountered a problem. Daddy was putting his wallet and his loose change in his tackle box. I guess he didn’t want to risk losing his money while we were fishing. He looked at the receipt from his transaction that morning and realized the woman had given him too much change.

“We have to go back,” he said.

So we left our gear and followed Daddy back around the lake to the small white building. It was still dark.

The woman seemed surprised to see us again. Daddy ex-plained she’d given him too much change. She said it was okay, but Daddy insisted on making it right.

We then walked all the way back around the lake, watched the sun rise and fished the whole glorious day.

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Early this year, my father lay dying in a hospice facili-ty. We were relieved he could spend his last days in such a place because my siblings and I could be with him. For much of the last year of his life, Daddy lived alone, quarantined in his retirement community because of the pandemic.

Now, though, my brother and I sat at the sides of his bed, holding his hands. Daddy could no longer see or speak, but he could hear. I recounted the story about fishing at Springdale Lake and told him everything I ever learned about integrity I learned from watching him that day. Daddy smiled and squeezed our hands.

My father was a man of few words. In fact, I don’t re-member much of what he said to me. But I remember everything he did around me, and what he did inspired and shaped me.

Some people tell us what to do. Others show us.