Our Paradise

I felt like crying. I had looked forward to this day all week, and now it was ruined. Part of that was even my fault.

While everyone else watched TV in the family room, I moped about in the living room, lying on the couch and feeling sorry for myself. Two hours later when the rain slacked off, I was still there watching and waiting.

Dad noticed the lightening of the rain as well, and the same thought occurred to him about getting in an hour or two of fishing. But his thoughts didn’t include me.

After a little debating, Dad settled the matter with a simple, "You’re too young, and it’s too wet." That was that. Dad went out the door with the words, "It’ll probably be all high and muddy anyway," and left me to sulk on the couch some more.

It turns out I had a right to mope all I wanted that day (and I certainly did). When Dad returned less than two hours later, all I saw was a creel full of brookies. Dad was obviously happy, but I still couldn’t crack a smile as I watched him clean his catch. He realized how depressed I was and wanted to make it better. But what could he say? After all, he was the one who wouldn’t let me go back out. I would have been depressed if he hadn’t caught any, but to see him catch his limit was just too much.

After supper I secluded myself in the living room again. It wasn’t long before Dad came in to talk. But I didn’t feel like it, so it was mostly him explaining his reasons for making me stay at home and me giving one-word responses. I couldn’t understand why he would keep me from doing what I loved best just because it was a little wet outside.

What I didn’t realize at the time was just how bad a fisherman I really was, though good for my age, and how much trouble I was to take out even in nice weather. I realized some ten years later when fishing with my younger cousin that I wouldn’t want to take out a novice when everything is wet and the water is high and muddy.

Sometimes it takes years for a person to appreciate that their parents enjoy doing things without their children, and to force yourself on them is to ruin their enjoyment. It is so very hard to realize that as a child when your very age makes you selfish and inconsiderate.

What can a parent do to ease the suffering of an irrational child? Sometimes the only answer is to let time heal the wound. Unfortunately, that time is too often measured in years rather than days or weeks. Such is life. Fortunately, I got over my depression the next weekend when Dad and I once again ventured to Our Paradise for an afternoon of trout fishing.