I wasn’t kidding. It’s the family sport. I spent my first summer fishing when I was six weeks old, laying in the bottom of the aluminum boat. After my grandfather (that guy up there) died, we really didn’t go anymore. We tried once, but it just wasn’t the same. It would be all in the distant past except for one extraordinary development. Small. He loves fishing. He started talking about wanting to fish when he was about 3, and he never let up. Last summer, he went to a fishing camp for a week and it was his own personal nirvana. There is a particular belief system out there that says that you are surrounded by the same people you love over and over again, lifetime after lifetime, getting chance after chance to work out the kinks. When your fishing gene has been dormant for twenty five years, and your baby boy becomes an aficionado out of nowhere, with little or no encouragement, it makes you wonder.

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