Do you ever sit and try to remember special days? It's hard isn't it? Because in actuality we remember moments, whether they are good or bad, somehow they are ingrained in our memory files. When I took this picture on Lake Michigan my thoughts focused on my father. In my minds eye I can see him now. His slender frame hunkered down in a boat, with black hair cut short and combed to the side with hazel eyes, which sometimes looked green in the right light, and a cigarette permanently fixed between this thin lips.
Only one time did he let me go fishing with him by myself. I played hooky from teaching Sunday School so that I could be with him. We went to Cedarville Dam that day, one of his favorite fishing holes. The day began early for me and the sun was high in the azure sky at 6 a.m that Sunday morning. Birds sang their morning song while we made our way through the cornfield to get to our destination. I held his hand as he helped me cross the creek. His long slender fingers were wrapped firmly around my hand so that I wouldn't fall. I felt safe with him. We walked across the grassy slope and placed our fishing gear on the wall. Before long we were reeling in the fish. But I wasn't there to fish really. I just wanted to be with Dad for a while, alone. When I told him that I skipped Sunday School to come fishing he was astonished and said, "The children need you more than for you to be out here fishing with me." My heart sank. He meant well. It was the souls of those children that he was thinking about. If only he knew how much I wanted to be with him and to experience a special time. If only he knew...that was the last time I went fishing. My father passed away a short time later. I still shed a few tears when I think about this but I know that he meant me no harm. I love you Dad.
