Rob the Fisherman

An old friend of mine, Chris, facebooked me to go fishing yesterday. My family owns a two acre, completely stocked pond off Lee’s Summit road. Chris is one of those compare-to-people when speaking of outdoorsy men. Wanting to show off my adorable new husband I insisted Rob join us for the evening. He seemed mildly hesitant but in the end agreed. It took us an hour or so to load up the golf cart with our "fishing needs”. They consisted of multiple lawn chairs, pop, juice boxes, an entire five pound jar of Jelly Belly’s, bread to trick the fish, and fruit snacks. My husband and I loaded the golf cart because we are too lazy to make multiple trips up and down a hill less then 50 steps away. Chris walks up with his 3 and a half year old son, Jackson. Chris is loaded with four, count them, separate poles…just in case he wants options. His mini-me is handling an adult looking pole and possibly his own tackle box. I immediately remember to go grab our fishing gear as well. Rob and I have one pole each, in case we can’t figure out three of them. Two of these being orange and blue Disney poles from the 80’s. The kids are loaded with fake worms that are still on the hooks from when Tamera and I were little. His three and a half year old is practicing his casting skills while my 4 and 6 year old are dipping their “worms” in the water and jumping back when a fish comes near them. I am staring off into space considering these fish fighting over two decade old plastic, when I hear Sophia giggiling excitedly. She has caught a fish! I glance over and notice that Chris has taken his proffesional fisherman about 30 feet away and is merely surveying our scene. I wrongly assume my 32 year old husband is capable of handling such an event. I watch as he leans over and grabs the fishing string of the pole. He is standing a clear distance away as to not get splattered by anything. The look on his face is pure panic as he is questioning what to do next. He squints his eyes as he tries to wrangle the fish off the hook with his bare hands. I fear a hook removal emergency room trip while wondering why he isn’t using pliers. After a minute or so, Rob walks over to the edge of the dock and dips the fish back in the water. “Rob, what are you doing?!” I jump out of my chair and walk towards him. My stepfather, Mike, is standing silently next to him, staring into the water, shaking his head. Rob smiles a weak apologetic smile at his obvious disaproval. My husbands “inexperience” in outdoor activties has handicapped him before. My father and brother in law routinely “forget” to ask him for help with any construction project. But it’s become a loving teasing trait that we laugh about. “You’ve never done this before, have you?” I asked. He looked insulted and was quick to reply, “I have too……….once.” I assume it was as a child with the help of an adult. Chris and Jackson have been watching in pure amusement. “Want some help?” he yells over, trying not to laugh.” Rob, still not wanting to accept defeat, wrestles with the idea of walking over there while dragging the fish through the water. He finally accepts some pliers from Mike and attacks the hook while cringing with fear from the slimy, now dying thing attached. After he threw it in the water I leaned over to see if it was floating. By the end of the night, Rob had successfully removed 6 or so hooks. Cameron made friends with Chris’ son, and Sophia threw her pole into the water to signal she was done fishing. We are now down a pole. I love my husband even more for sticking it out and not throwing up in front of everyone. I was so thankful that my brothers and Dr. Bell were not there to witness. It would have been placed next to the pocket-knife story when, after receiving two varies size pocket knifes for Christmas, Rob looked at my father and asked, “Is the little one for when you dress up?”