The Saturday Boy Novel (Chap. 9)

CHAPTER NINE – FISHING EQUALS FUN

 

 

TOMORROW IS the first day of autumn, my favorite time of year. I like to see the leaves flop over when the wind blows.

 

Their orange and red-paint colors whiz by as my father and I skip along at 50 Kilometers.

 

My father says 'Kliks' instead of Kilometers per hour.

 

"How come dad?" I asked. "Why do they say that?" I repeated, thinking he didn't hear me the first time.

 

"I don't know, son," he said. One thing about my father, he didn't ever give long explanations.

 

We parked his truck and lifted our mountain bikes from the back. Mom packed a super dessert for lunch. Father said, “And I prepared a delicious dinner to go along with it.”

 

I couldn't wait. I kept shaking my arms around and even threw my hat way up in the air. I felt so good. He was calling me Son more often.

 

Fishing rods were strapped to our handlebars and I had his fishing creel looped over my shoulder. As If I was going on an African expedition or something.

 

My father carried the food basket. He liked to eat a lot but he still wasn't fat. It was up to me to see he had his exercise.

 

We went up this dirt road with me going first. I took the lead and was surprised when my father kept up.

 

To show him up I tried to race then lost my balance, almost crashing my bike into his. The creel hanging from my shoulder fell off and I almost drove over it. My father rushed over to my side. “Are you hurt?” he asked. My heart was pumping and felt dizzy from the sudden excitement.

 

He held my bike while I settled down.

 

He didn't laugh, just worried. "Hey, I like that sweatshirt," he said.

 

"Mom gave it to me," I answered. I think he began talking about it to get my mind off my accident.

 

She put it away until I grew more. ‘Tree Planting 1987 NSAC’ it read. It was real flashy. I'm glad my father liked it. "I'm okay, now," I said.

 

I could see my father squinting. Leaving his new bi-focal glasses in the truck wasn’t a good idea.

 

"It makes me feel younger," he said, "not wearing them."

 

I don't care if he tries not to look too old. He isn't though, especially if he could keep up to me on his bike.

 

And I know how to roll on two wheels.

 

Fishing was terrible for me. But my father must have had magic in his fingers. As usual, he kept catching one after another.

 

"Good thing the limit is only five," I said, jealous of his good luck.

 

"Try this spot," he said. “I caught two nice just under the overhang."

 

Yes, more trout could be hiding. The stream came over the rocks and landed in a big 'plop' at the bottom.

 

"Catch any?" I kept hearing. I continued to concentrate on my task. I didn't realize my father was trying to get my attention, to tell me something.

 

"Almost got one!" I yelled.

 

After that I couldn't get a singe bite. My father caught two more. He said it was my turn. How could there be any left? There were all caught. I tried. And I failed.

 

"Don't start feeling sorry for yourself. As long as you try your best,” he said. “And keep a happy face."

 

Being thirsty, I drank my box of orange juice, my favorite.

 

I once was very fearful in the woods but lately I'm more comfortable with all these trees and bugs. I didn't notice my father fishing further and further away, then simply disappeared.

 

Yup, he's gone.

 

At first, I panicked. And yelled, "HEY! HEY!" How could I call him anything else? If I called Father he might come running as if I was scared.

 

I couldn't call him Dad either, especially since he left me alone in the woods. Maybe he was trying to trick me into being brave. I was ready to be brave, but not quite yet.

 

Why do I have to be tough like him anyway?

 

I was getting upset. My father must have sensed it too because he came back. I was so nervous I missed the rock that tripped me and my right foot got ended up in the stream.

 

I really blew it when my father thought it was funny. "Ever get a rubber boot full of water and soak your new thick socks?" I yelled at the sky. Blast him.

 

I felt like jumping in, getting both of us wet. If only the water was cleaner.

 

"What's wrong, sport? It’s only water."

 

"I don't feel like fishing anymore," I said. "OK if I throw boulders over the waterfall instead?" Maybe I can scare his fish away.

 

He looked at me and shook his head. "If that's what you want." Then he went back to fishing.

 

Before long, my boulders made loud BOOMING sounds. They traveled like a storm over the hill, sailing down into the ravine. After a bit I felt better. I hoped I didn't scare away all his fish.

 

When I found him, he was preparing a fire.

 

“To warm us up,” he said. “And to help dry out your clothes.”

 

I began helping by getting bits of wood.

 

My father used my contribution to build a tepee. It was the same style as the one I read in my Camp Craft book.

 

He scrunched up some birch bark, placing it under a jumble of twigs. Larger dry branches and sticks stood up straight around the bundle.

 

I put my hand on his shoulder. It was my way of saying, “Let’s have peace.” He knew I enjoyed having a campfire on our trips. When my friends went with their fathers, I was jealous. Now I was with my own father, fishing, hiking and making a campfire.

 

What more did a young fellow need?

 

“Here’s how to make one of my favorite meals I learned to cook in Boy Scouts.” Then my father acted like a chef as he explained the menu.

 

"A large piece of Aluminum foil, then butter slathered in the middle and two hamburger patties placed in the center. Thin slices of potatoes and carrots placed around the meat. Oh and don’t forget sliced onions."

 

He rhymed off his actions as I watched carefully, stomach growling for food.

 

"Then the most important part. Fold the aluminum ends in opposite directions so the cooking juices don’t escape. Oh…Oh, forgot the salt and pepper. Well, a little would have helped the taste." And this feast should be ready in about fifteen minutes, as he placed the packages on our campfire’s hot coals.

 

It’s cool to watch my father in action. Maybe this is the time to do something special for him, to finally call him, Dad. He'd like that. It would be so easy. "Dad, hey dad, I'm having a great day. I really mean it...dad."

 

Hey, I should wait and make it a very special moment, like his birthday, or something. No, that's already gone by.

 

I’ll ask mom what she thinks.

 

She's full of good advice.

 

My father tried to get his limit of five. But he couldn't. Four was the best he could do. He asked me to guess how many he had already caught and I said, "Eighteen hundred." As if I didn't know.

 

He didn't think it was funny at all. I like to use big numbers. So what's the big deal? We both changed the subject. No sense getting upset again.

 

I found a new trail and my father said, "Let's follow it."

 

I said, "No, don't." We didn't go. He listened to me. He seems to be doing that more often now. “Let’s just talk, okay?” I asked.

 

Then he sat down by a tree. He really looked tired. And I wondered if his eyes hurt without his glasses. I sat down beside him. Before I could say anything, he fired off a question first.

 

"Why were you chucking those boulders down the waterfall?"

 

"I was bombing the Bad Guys," I answered.

 

I think he was afraid to ask if he was a Good Guy or a Bad Guy. Before, I wasn't sure. Now I was.        

 

“You’re a Good Guy, “I said.

 

And we talked.

 

“In school I get along pretty good. Except some fellas don't like me. I don't know why. Other kids call me the Red Lion. Maybe because I'm daring sometimes."

 

My father listened.

 

"Remember that log stretched across the creek? I scraped my leg when I fell down. Second time today. “Wanna go for three!!” I suddenly shouted at the sky. After settling down for a few minutes, I didn't feel angry.

 

I stopped talking.

 

"You know something, son?"

 

"What?"

 

"You're growing up."

 

"Really?"

 

"Really."

 

My father asked if he could check my bruise. He clucked his tongue as his hands carefully touched the black and blue skin.

 

Sometimes it hurts being a lion. But I was a brave lion this time.

 

My dad is with me.