Fishing for memories

I'm going to try something a little different with my blog. Okay, maybe it isn't that different. I'm going to talk about some of my memories. They won't look like much at first, but pieced together over time, they will take shape sort of like a mosaic. 

The above photo was taken the day after I caught my first fish. My dad got me up early (see my uncombed haystack of hair?) and took this photo along with one of me on my red bike (not pictured in the background; that was my oldest brother's). The picture was taken in the driveway of our Hot Springs home on the hill, so I was between seven and ten years old. I recall being very tired. Mornings, apparently, were not my thing. 

My mom cooked the fish after I begged her. It really should have been thrown back, which my dad suggested, but I also begged him to let me keep it, it being my first fish. I believe it is a trout. The Black Hills waterways are stocked with trout, and this fish was caught at Sylvan Lake. 

So, I'm tired but triumphant with my fish. I'm obviously a skinny child. That was due to malnourishment and food scarcity in our household. There was food. Not much. And not the right kind. Sometimes after school I would come home and open a can of whatever — fruit cocktail, cherry pie filling, etc. — just to make it to dinner. I was always hungry. I remember stealing candy from a vending machine at work. I had my own money; I mean, I had a job. I don't know why I stole it. I was found out and punished, of course. I never could hide my indiscretions. Anyway, my constant hunger is probably why I learned to cook for myself early on.

The house on the hill had one side of windows. Okay, it still does. But I performed many science experiments out there in the solarium. I dried grapes and made raisins. I had anoles (our school gave kids various creatures when school let out for the summer). I captured an ant lion under the eaves and put it in a jar and fed it. I had minnows in a sort of raceway. 


I had a garden on the other side of this house. Strawberries, tomatoes, peppers. I fed my turtle, Scooter, a strawberry once, and he bit my finger. He didn't have teeth, of course. It was more like two razors coming together. A very clean cut but hurt like hell. My brother let my turtle go while I was called inside one day. I used to let Scooter out in a maze of muddy ponds and rivers. I always knew where he was. When I came back outside that day, he was gone. Deliberately let go. Never seen again. 

It was at this house I shot giant grasshoppers on the front lawn with a BB gun. I built a bird feeder with my father, and my brother later told me he shot birds at the feeder point-blank. I dug worms for fishing under that tree and often climbed it, too. One time while up there I saw our cat, Muffin, sneak up on a neighbor cat and teach it a lesson in whose territory to avoid. The woods surrounding our house were my playground as well. I can go on and on about the time I spent outside of my house. But, looking back, I feel a poignant sadness. Maybe it's just the day I'm writing this and the feeling I have, but I also feel much of my life has been unfair. My childhood was definitely unfair in many ways. I was taught that unfairness was a rule of life. Recently, I've come to see the unfairness of the aftermath of my divorce as perhaps the most unfair thing to happen to me. My early years were permeated with sadness for reasons I've already dwelled on enough. I can't do anything about that. I can only hope God makes something from what little I have left to offer, as He did with the little boy's loaves and fishes.

This recollection could go on all day. I have so many questions about my life, but the answers shrink away like shadows I reach to touch. What looks like a simple photo of a skinny, white kid in the 1980s is a whole story to me. What looks like a first fish was actually a fight: I fought to keep it and I fought to consume it. I thought, perhaps, someday someone would take me seriously. 

That little boy grew into a man. While the man still recognizes the boy, I'm sure the boy never would have recognized the man. We don't always see where our lives are headed. Not long ago, it felt like my world would never heal. Now I'm wondering what the next thing God has in store. I know one thing for sure. If my son's first fish is too small to keep but he still wants to keep it, it's all his. 

Thank you for reading. And God bless.