Gone Fishing

As Father’s Day is coming up, I’ve been thinking a lot about my Dad lately – the lessons he taught me and the fun days we had together. Some of them stick out because of how hilarious they were.

Fishing – Anna Maria Island Florida / http://www.SALeys.photo

We (our family) spent a lot of time fishing when I was little. I remember those days – usually because of how cold they were – especially out on the boat during the Fall. The thing I remember catching the most of was Mackerel. When we returned to the dock, Dad would clean them and then into the freezer they would go until the winter months. To this day – I hate Mackerel because there were usually a lot of bones, and you had to be careful when you ate them.

Life got a lot better when dad started buying his lobster traps – but that’s another story for later.

What I liked about fishing was just the time spent with each other talking, strategizing which lure to use, and then waiting for the bites to happen and the challenge of reeling them in. I would usually try to reel the fish in, but then I would usually get tired because I wasn’t strong enough to get the fish on deck – so I’d hand the fishing pole to him and say, “okay – your turn.”

Later in life – Dad kept two fishing poles in the back shed at their home in Florida. One day, we were walking down the street in their neighborhood that overlooked Sarasota Bay. We could see the fish jumping out of the water. Dad said, “there’s probably bigger fish underneath them that are chasing them.” “We should go get bait!” I said. “Probably shrimp would be best,” he said, “we’ll pick some up tomorrow.”

The next day we drove over to the bait and tackle shop on Anna Maria Island and bought two large boxes of shrimp.
I was so psyched to be with him, walking with our fishing poles down to sit on the bench along the waterfront. It was just like old times. I thought about how many years had passed since we had stood on the back of the boat fishing.

We baited the hooks and then sat waiting. Every time I would feel a nibble, I would jerk the line and then – nuthin. When I reeled the line in, the bait would be gone, but no fish would be there. This happened again and again and again.

Dad and I continued to sit together, talking, and fishing. We’d talk, and then I’d feel another jerk on the line. I’d tug it again, reel it in again only to find the shrimp would be gone, and there would be no fish on the end of my line. “What the hell?” I would ask dad. Maybe it was the lures we were using. Perhaps the shrimp was on the hook the wrong way. I was exasperated.

But we continued to sit there for hours talking and completely emptying the two boxes of shrimp we had purchased.
“I feel like I just took them out for a nice dinner,” I told him.

But as exasperated as I felt, the most important thing was having the time to sit with dad and talk to him and have a relaxing afternoon together. As we packed up the tackle box and the fishing poles, I felt sad that our afternoon had ended, but it was getting late, and mom would be cooking dinner by the time we arrived.

It was during our walk back to the house that dad happened to mention that the fish didn’t have any teeth.
“What???” I asked him. “WHAT????”

He explained to me that the fish we were trying to catch had tiny teeth, and because of this, it was challenging to catch them. “So, we just fed them two boxes of shrimp?” I asked.
“Yes, sometimes you can catch one, but not usually.”

As we got closer to home, I remember laughing and thinking that all this time, he knew this but didn’t say anything. And then I remembered the great time we had, spending the afternoon with each other.

After he died, I remember walking into the back shed – his shed – where all of his tools and tackle boxes were. I would look up at the two fishing poles, wishing I could take the one I always used with me. But then I would think about how old it was and the logistics of getting it onto the plane. I decided that I would fish another day but leave the poles in Florida, hoping that someone else would enjoy them as much as dad and I did.

Life is short. Spend time with the people you love the most. Even if the fish are just taking all of your bait, the most important thing is the time that you are spending together. – Lesson learned.
Thanks Dad.

Why I Will Never Own A Gun

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I don’t want to hear it anymore. 

I’ve seen post after post about gun rights. Who should own a gun and who shouldn’t. Here’s the thing: I will never, ever, ever own a gun.

Yeah, I know – you’ve owned guns because you’ve used them hunting in the state where you’re from. And that’s an acceptable reason to own and use a gun and yes, it’s your 2nd Amendment right and I support that.  Not a fan of automatic assault rifles that can shoot several bullets in a few seconds is all I’m sayin’

But as we sit on the eve of having anyone in the world able to create an unregistered weapon from a 3D printer recipe on the internet – whelp, that’s where I’m stepping off of this train of the second amendment debate.

Here’s the article about 3D guns

I grew up with guns (several of them) in our home. Every single day, I only had to look up at the wall in our family room to see my father’s very extensive collection of guns. From the early 1800’s on forward, he had several guns, pistols and rifles and swords. He hunted as a young boy, joined the Navy and knew (was taught by his dad and trained by the Navy) how to use his guns. The ammunition was kept separately and far away from the guns he had (Mom – an ER Nurse – made sure of this).

The picture above is a photo of my grandmother – she didn’t hunt. She was a fisherman who used a drop line to catch fish. See a fishing pole in this picture? – It’s because there isn’t one. The Northeast is known for fishing. Watch any fisherman head miles out into the North Atlantic during the late summer / early Fall months when hurricanes and strong Nor’easters are prevalent and you will know how tough fishing can be. In our family, our freezer was filled with frozen fish that helped keep food on our table through the winter months. Ask me to join you for a dinner consisting of bluefish or mackerel and I will politely turn you down because I have had far too much… okay, maybe Cod.

My grandmother’s mom died shortly after giving birth to her. A few years later, her father was struck and killed by a cable car when he was crossing the street, leaving my grandmother in the care of her older sister and her sister’s boyfriend.  They didn’t have an easy life. But my grandmother made it through to marry my grandfather and give birth to my mom and her brother (my uncle).

To this day, I have never met a woman as firmly grounded in her values as my grandmother. How do I know this? – Because I tried to buy a gun.

It didn’t go over well and it wasn’t even real.

Once when I was visiting my grandmother, she gave me some money and said to go to the little store down the street to get whatever I wanted. So off I went and walked down the street trying to decide what I was going to purchase.

Upon reviewing all of the toys available to me, I selected a very small, bright orange squirt gun. (Nope, not kidding, it was a squirt gun). It was about two inches long and seemed to hold a lot of water in it. It wasn’t even one of those semi-automatic super soaker squirt guns that you see today; it was an “old” one (yeah, you probably weren’t even born yet so just keep reading..). Happily, I walked home, ready to fill it and squirt people – aka my grandmother (who was taking care of me while my parents were away).

When she saw the gun I had purchased she became apoplectic. “Take it back!” she demanded. I couldn’t understand why. “Take it back!” she said again. “Little girls do not use guns!” (I was six or seven years old at the time).

I walked back to the store, sad and dejected because she did not approve of my hunter / gatherer & squirt decision. I traded it in and returned with a super ball which I played with outside until it was time for dinner.

Over dinner, my grandmother explained to me that yes, some people owned guns that they used for hunting but that I did not need one. She also explained that police officers carried guns to protect those of us in our community and again affirmed that I would never need a gun. If there was a conflict that needed to be resolved, she explained, then this was what our brains were for. That we used our ability to communicate with each other tactfully and in a way that reduced any potential for violence.

“Use your head”, she said “that’s what it’s for; to communicate with each other and resolve arguments and misunderstandings. And if you ever need help, ask us!”

To this day, I have never forgotten the conviction she had during that conversation. 3 degrees and 2 graduate certificates later, I know for sure that I have enough knowledge, conviction, empathy, tact and compassion to know that I have a keen ability to resolve a lot of different conflicts. Guns will not be playing a part in my life (at least not of my choosing anyway).


As much as I often miss my grandmother, I’m glad that she is not around to see what the internet and 3D printing have produced as it relates to guns.

And while I will never know if guns in the possession of someone else will ever affect my life or the lives of my family and friends, I have learned that there are just some things in life that you can’t predict or control.

After 9/11 and United 93 (the flight that crashed in Shanksville, PA), I also learned that you can’t predict what will happen if terrorists take over your flight and try to fly it into a building or something else.  And that you certainly can’t predict who will stand up and try to overpower them, even if there is the potential that they will also die.

But this is where my head goes whenever there are increasing discussions about guns and gun violence:

Sometimes when I’m sitting by myself at a gate in an airport waiting for a plane, I look around for “that guy” or “that girl”. The one I think looks like they have the ability to stand up, fight back and overpower the terrorists and try to save those who are on the plane. I look at their posture, stance and non-verbals – trying to find the heroes among us – the ones you don’t notice and don’t know who walk among us every day. To me, these are people who don’t need guns. They have a keen, MacGyver like sense to figure out what to do and how to do it, quietly and collaboratively in a tribal, patriotic “we few, we happy few, we band of brothers” sort of way – no matter who they are, no matter where they’re from, no matter what their gender, religion, education, nationality, socioeconomic status or sexual orientation is.

They’re just caring, compassionate people looking to help those who need help even though they don’t know them and even though they may die themselves.

They may use guns for hunting or drop lines to fish and / or their brain to communicate. But what’s equally as important is what Martin Luther King once described as the “content of their character”.