March 11, 2015
Anyone who knew my dad for more than 10 minutes knows that he was a chatty guy who liked to tell stories. Those of us who knew him well, knew that his favorite stories were ones of yesteryear and the outdoors, often embellished to the point where fact and fiction were hard to discern. He told them over and over again until they were threadbare. His personal arsenal of stories gave him great joy and he loved to share them, sometimes to the general misery of the rest of us at the 100th telling. But these stories embody his favorite times of life; the time when he and his children were young. He told tales of "kangaroo hunting" with his nephews, the 30-year piggyback challenge, and Fat Matt the Bacon Eater. In his memory today, I will leave you with one more story. A story you have not heard 100 times. A story about a little girl who didn’t enjoy hunting, never challenged him to a piggyback ride, and Lord knows never ate a pound of bacon at a sitting.
We used to go fishing together as a family. This was a good time for us. One day, I couldn’t have been more than 7, I caught a fish. I was so excited, and reeled it in. I saw – to my horror – that I had snagged it, not by its mouth, in the front, but by its rear, and reeled it in backwards. As the fish flopped and thrashed on the riverbank with a hook sticking out of the wrong place, I was horrified and immediately began to cry.
Anyone who knew my dad for more than 10 minutes knows that he was a chatty guy who liked to tell stories. Those of us who knew him well, knew that his favorite stories were ones of yesteryear and the outdoors, often embellished to the point where fact and fiction were hard to discern. He told them over and over again until they were threadbare. His personal arsenal of stories gave him great joy and he loved to share them, sometimes to the general misery of the rest of us at the 100th telling. But these stories embody his favorite times of life; the time when he and his children were young. He told tales of "kangaroo hunting" with his nephews, the 30-year piggyback challenge, and Fat Matt the Bacon Eater. In his memory today, I will leave you with one more story. A story you have not heard 100 times. A story about a little girl who didn’t enjoy hunting, never challenged him to a piggyback ride, and Lord knows never ate a pound of bacon at a sitting.
We used to go fishing together as a family. This was a good time for us. One day, I couldn’t have been more than 7, I caught a fish. I was so excited, and reeled it in. I saw – to my horror – that I had snagged it, not by its mouth, in the front, but by its rear, and reeled it in backwards. As the fish flopped and thrashed on the riverbank with a hook sticking out of the wrong place, I was horrified and immediately began to cry.
Dad wanted
to know what all the drama was about. I told him. “Dad! We have to throw it
back! I cheated! I hooked a fish by its bottom! It’s not fair!” When he saw my
predicament, he gingerly removed the hook and put his arm around me. He said, “You know, only a very skilled and talented fisherman can catch a fish in this
way. In all my years fishing, I have never seen such a skillful thing. You did
not cheat; you were not unfair. You were quiet and patient and this big fish
was your reward for a job well done.” In that moment, my horror dissolved into
pride. I caught the best fish ever and I made my dad proud all in one day.
I chose to
tell this story today, because he would have liked it, and that was my dad at his
best. When we were
young, Dad and Mom taught their kids to believe in ourselves and always try our
best, no matter what the task. If we tried our best, we would BE our best. Dad
also taught his children and grandchildren to respect and enjoy God’s creation,
and we will continue to carry these lessons forward in our lives even though he
is gone.
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| Fishin' with dad, 1974. |
As I sit here with tears in my eyes, my name of Shooter means even more to me now than when he bestowed it upon me.
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