We Were Best Buds On the Water

On Father’s Day, I went fishing and thought about Dad.

I don’t think about him every day. I’m not one to celebrate heavenly birthdays or lament his passing at the age of 90 nearly two decades ago.

But I always think about him when I fish.

He and I fished together often.

We didn’t agree on a lot — religion and politics come to mind. Get us on the water, however, our differences vanished and we were best buds.

Dad taught me to fly fish. It wasn’t something many folks did in southern Indiana, and I’m not sure where he picked it up, but it was how I learned to fish.

Before he got old and decrepit...