Big Fish…..

I often like to write stories of my childhood when I would spend time in Waverly Alabama with my grandmother on her farm. These were great times for me and I often think back on them. I had a sense of community then and felt I belonged. No matter what I looked like or what was wrong with me my grandmother loved me and accepted me. I was the apple of her eye and the chosen one as far as the grandchildren went.

I would often spend many a lazy, hot summer afternoon fishing down at our pond. Mostly I would just fish for bream and catfish. There were bass in the pond but I never did like fishing with lures and never thought I would catch a big one.

I would spend the morning gathering what I would need. My grandmother would pack me some snacks in a paper bag like cheese and crackers or leftover sausage and biscuits. She would also throw in a banana or apple or two. I would dig in the worm bed that she kept and would fill up an old coffee can with as many wigglers as I could find. After gathering what I needed, I would grab my stuff and head out for the long walk down highway 280 to the dirt road that led to the pond.

Upon reaching the pond, I sat for a long time. Nothing was biting and I feared it was the heat of the day keeping the fish sluggish and in deep water. I could see around the perimeter of the pond that bass were actively picking off insects from the surface of the water now and then. I decided to real in my line and set my floater shallow. I put on a fresh wiggly worm and cast out my line.

Suddenly, whoosh, the cork disappeared under the surface and I felt a huge tug on my line. My heart raced and my palms grew sweaty as I struggled to reel it in. After many minutes fighting, I saw it. “Holy Shit!” I cried aloud. It was a huge bass. My fishing rod strained against the weight and I stumbled down the bank into the water up to my knees. By then, the bass was tuckered out and I slowly reached down with my hand and slipped two fingers into its mouth and pulled it out gingerly. I had it!

I grabbed up all my stuff and put the fish on the stringer and ran as fast as I could back to my grandmother’s house. I couldn’t wait to show it off. I ran into the house hollering, “Meemaw! Meemaw!” My grandmother and her two sisters came running from the front room from their quilting session thinking something bad had happened. I proudly held up a good 2 pound bass and they were relieved and proud for me. I wrapped it up in aluminum foil and put it in the freezer for safe keeping. It was a trophy to keep and not eat even though they suggested having a fish fry for supper. “No way!” I said. This one was for me.

Years later, we had to move my grandmother into town due to her Alzheimer’s becoming more advanced. She could no longer live alone. As we were cleaning out her drop in freezer in preparation to put it on the U-haul, we found a big fish wrapped in aluminum foil in the bottom of that big drop in freezer. I was a grown man then and seeing that brought back a flood of good memories. She had kept my trophy for all those years and never threw it away. I felt like that proud, little kid again as I stood there holding that frozen fish; the big fish of my childhood.