So the lad instead had been watching a man in his boat for a while and taking note of the fact he wasn't having much luck. He wanted to ask the man if he might have some hooks and bait he could spare, but he lacked the courage just to ask outright.
The boy knew there was a chance he perhaps could find more hooks in the garage if he were to go home, but he also knew if his mom spotted him, she might not let him return to the pond. She often coped with the situation at home by dragging him into her troubles, even though there was no way he could help.
As a result, the lad simply continued sitting there, watching the man drift ever so slowly toward him.
"Although he doesn't know it," thought the lad, "that man controls my fate. He's my last hope. There's no one else around, and I've already scoured the shoreline, looking for lost or discarded hooks. Will I get to spend the next few hours fishing, or will I be stuck just killing time?" he wondered.
The boy was about to ask the man how we was doing when the latter spoke first. "Caught some bass on the other end of the pond," he said, "but not much for a while now. You doing any good at this end?"
"I caught some nice bluegills earlier," the boy responded.
"How come you're not fishing now?" the man asked.
"I lost my last hook and worm on a snag," replied the lad.
"Well, listen," said the man. Since I'm headed in, you can have the rest of my worms, and I'm sure I have an extra hook or two as well. Walk over to the boat launch, and I'll give them to you when I get there."
At the launch, the man handed the boy a pack of Eagle Claw hooks and a small styrofoam box full of large night crawlers.
"Wow! Thanks, sir," said the boy. Now I can fish for the rest of the day," noted the lad, thinking that he maybe shouldn't have said that last part.
The man hesitated and looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. His eyebrows furrowed just a little.
"He must be wondering why a boy my age would fish all day by himself," thought the lad.
Then, though, the man smiled and said, with kindness and no judgment, "You're welcome, son. I remember what it's like. Good luck."
Now fast forward more than 40 years. The boy is now a man with his own boat, purposefully drifting into a favorite cove on a nearby lake when a young boy on the shore asks, "You catching anything?"
The lad is sitting on the bank, with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on one hand. He isn't fishing, but there's a rod on the ground behind him.
As sad as it sounds, the man's first instinct was to pretend he hadn't heard the boy. Why? Because he had a line in the water and was over the targeted hot spot, and partly because of the times we live in.
"I would have to get closer to talk to the boy without yelling, and I could see he was alone," the man thought. "What would people think about a 55-year-old man, barefoot, in shorts and a T-shirt, talking to a young boy without his parents around? Was it really worth the potential trouble?"
"A couple of pickerel," the man acknowledged.
"Were they big ones?" asked the boy.
"No, but they get very big in this lake," said the man. "I've caught a couple over 20 inches right in this cove, not far from where you're standing."
"Maybe I'll catch one," said the lad. "I mostly just catch bass and sunfish. I don't think pickerel like worms."
"Nothing wrong with bass and sunfish," said the man. "They get very big here, too."
"I've caught some big ones...well, maybe not real big, but big for me" responded the lad.
"Do you fish here often?" asked the man.
To this point, their conversation had been like a ping-pong game: question and answer after more questions and answers. The boy could talk at an amazing pace, but now he hesitated, looked down at his feet for a moment, and then said, "I fish here all the time. I live just down the road. I easily can walk here."
"Do your parents ever fish with you?" asked the man, who recognized that this question, in the current day and age, might be inappropriate. He asked anyway, though, because, in his heart, he already knew the answer.
After another slight hesitation, the boy said, "It's just me and my mom. She doesn't like to fish. Her new boyfriend is nice enough to me, but he doesn't fish either. He has to work a lot. Sometimes they argue about that. They were arguing this morning, but it's OK, because she let me come here."
The lad was back at his initial pace now and might have gone on, but the man interrupted him by asking, "Why aren't you fishing now?"
"I ran out of hooks," said the boy. "I was about to head home when I saw you."
The man was close to the shore now...close enough to have the lad step aside so he could beach the front end of the boat. "I have plenty of hooks," he said. "Here, take this pack. And you can have these worms, too. I'm not fishing with worms today, so I don't need them."
"Thank you so much," said the lad, with a huge smile on his face.
The man was about to back away when a thought occurred to him. "Hand me your rod for a second, son."
"Why?" asked the boy.
"I'm going to tie a Rapala lure on your line," said the man. "They're great for catching pickerel. Just cast it out and reel it back slowly."
The boy's smile broadened considerably.
Meanwhile, the man went back to the middle of the cove and watched the boy work the Rapala. On his fourth cast, he shouted, "Hey, mister! I got one. It's a pickerel...a big one! Well, not real big but big for me. Thank you so much!"
The man then motored close enough to be sure the lad could hear him. "You're welcome, son," he said. "I remember what it's like. Good luck."
Author Mark Fiorentino has been obsessed with Einstein's Field Theory ever since hearing about it when he was only 10. He worked for many years in the high-tech industry, including for IBM. He penned this article for the Granby Drummer, a community-based nonprofit organization whose goal is to inform and educate Granby, CT residents on local issues. The preceding is a slightly amended version of the original piece.
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