My First Fish

My step-father, Jim Downs, introduced me to fishing. He loved going to any body of water, be it river, lake, pond, or ocean, to try his hand at reeling in a catch. And he didn’t particularly care what the size of his object of affection was…he just liked catching fish. Bass of all types, perch, crappie, even gar and buffalo were accepted by my dad as worthy opponents for his rod and reel or trot line.

I remember he was so excited to take me fishing for my very first time. I must have been around 11 years old when he purchased a Zebco 77 rod and reel combo, a few lures, and a tackle box for me. We headed out to an area below the dam on a local lake where shallow streams weaved among huge boulders.

He helped me attach a hula popper lure he had purchased for me and showed me how to cast. He sent me out to a big, rust-colored boulder in the middle of a little stream. On my second cast a big largemouth bass hit my lure and the battle was on. I pulled and reeled and jumped up and down as my dad cheered me on from another boulder. After several minutes and constant coaching, I had reeled in an 18 inch trophy. My dad was so proud of me. He took pictures of me and my first fish. And then he started showing it off to all the people on the shore. “Look at this fish…it’s my son’s very first fish. First time he’s ever been fishing. Caught it on his second cast…” Everyone seemed duly impressed. I just wanted to get back out there and catch an even bigger fish.

When I was 21 my step-dad and mom got a divorce. He married a woman who had a 14 year old son. I did not want to be an intrusion on my dad and his new family. I also wanted to give his new son a chance to have a good father without competing with me so I did not contact my dad for several years. Looking back now I realize what a grave mistake that was.

When I was 23 years old I was living in Danville, Kentucky without work and no money. I talked with a friend in Houston, Texas that agreed to let me stay with him and his family until I could find work and get back in college. All I had to do was get back to Houston. I didn’t even have enough money for a bus ticket. I had a friend take me and all my belongings to a local pawn shop. There I was able to sell almost everything I owned for $20. That gave me enough money to purchase a one way ticket to a brighter future.

Two years later I married Lisa, my wife of 28 years. One year later on Father’s Day I got to thinking about my dad and how much I missed him. I pondered all the fishing trips my dad and I had enjoyed together. Then it hit me. When I had sold all my belongings in Kentucky I had sold my tackle box full of lures. That box contained the hula popper on which I had caught my first fish. I was overcome with emotion and began to cry. Lisa walked in and put her arms around me and asked what was wrong. I explained I had not realized how important something like a lure could be but now, after all these years, I did but now it was too late. My hula popper was gone and along with it a connection to my childhood and my father.

Some of you reading this may think I am being a little too sentimental. But you probably never caught a fish and had your dad cheer for you because of it. I had and I was missing him in the worst way. I needed my dad at that moment and for maybe the first time in my life I actually realized what a loss I was experiencing. Lisa hugged me and encouraged me to call Big Jim and tell him how I felt and wish him happy Father’s Day. I called him and talked for a few minutes. Our conversation seemed a bit awkward so I cut the conversation short.

A couple of years later I was fishing with my older brother, Tony, when I began recounting the story of how I had sold my lure and had not realized how important that kind of a thing could be to a man. He stopped me and motioned me over to his truck. He took out a big tackle box (he had several) and began going through compartments. He was a man on a mission. Retrieving his prize, he held up a hula popper lure. He said, “This is the kind of lure you sold…this is what you caught your first fish on.” It was exactly like the one my dad had bought for me. My big brother pumped out his arm and held open his hand and said, “Here, it’s yours now. You can have it. I understand how much it means to you.” I was overjoyed to get the exact model of lure as I sold but even more impressed that Tony remembered me catching my first fish.

Several years later my half-sister, Stephanie, had gone to visit my dad with her husband, Shawn, and her two children, Mason and Meagan. Mason was about five years old. Dad thought the boy needed his own rod and reel so he went to his garage and searched for awhile then reappeared with a Zebco 77 rod and reel combo. He thrust it toward Mason and said proudly, “Here you can have this rod and reel. Your uncle Allen caught his first fish on this very rod.” Mason was elated. When they got home later that evening Shawn told Stephanie that Mason could not keep the rod and reel. Stephanie protested, “Why not…my dad gave it to him?” Shawn responded, “Your brother caught his first fish on that rod and reel. It is special to him. He would want it. He will want to give it to his children someday?” Stephanie continued to protest. But Shawn insisted saying, “Stephanie, you will just have to trust me on this…it is meaningful to him. This kind of thing is important to men.”

Stephanie eventually agreed and brought the rod and reel to me on her next visit. I could not believe it when she brought it in. It was like I was seeing a long lost friend for the first time in 30 years. Those of you who know me well know what I did…I cried…and I told them the story of my hula popper and my first fish.