“Can we go there?”
“You need a boat.”
“Then we should buy one.”
He would laugh. “Excellent idea. You paying?”
I didn’t understand the joke then.
Eventually, I did.
Part Two: The Surprise I Thought He Wanted
More than thirty years passed.
Dad retired. I built a life of my own. Somehow, I became almost the same age he had been during most of my childhood memories.
We still spoke often and visited each other regularly, but our fishing trips had quietly disappeared from our lives.
Then one evening, I came across an advertisement for a private fishing charter at the same lake.
The boat would travel to the northern point, the place Dad had mentioned so many times when I was young.
The trip was expensive. It probably cost more than he had spent on all our childhood fishing outings combined.
I booked it anyway.
Then I called him.
“Keep next Saturday open.”
“What are we doing?”
“I’m taking you fishing.”
There was a short silence.
“Fishing?” he asked.
“Just like the old days.”
His voice changed immediately. He sounded younger.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll find my hat.”
When I picked him up before sunrise, he stepped outside wearing the same battered green fishing hat he had owned throughout my childhood.
I stared at it.
“That thing is still alive?”
Dad climbed into the passenger seat. “It was made properly.”
“It has holes in it.”
“Those are air vents.”
“It smells like your garage.”
“That’s called character.”
He closed the car door, slapped the dashboard, and nodded toward the road.
“Let’s move.”
During the drive, he retold stories I had heard countless times. He reminded me about the day I dropped his tackle box into the lake and the morning I became convinced a turtle was following us.
“It followed me for twenty minutes,” I insisted.
“It was sitting on a log.”
“It was watching me.”
Dad laughed so hard that he began coughing.
As we drove beneath the fading streetlights, I glanced at him. His hands looked thinner than I remembered. His shoulders had begun to curve. His face carried the quiet weariness of someone who had spent a lifetime working hard.
A strange heaviness settled in my chest.
I wanted that day to be perfect.
More than that, I wanted to give him something in return for everything he had once given me.
Part Three: The Captain’s Strange Question
When we turned into the marina parking lot, Dad immediately frowned.
“This isn’t where we used to park.”
“I know.”
“Our trail is on the other side.”
“I know.”
He turned toward me.
“What have you done?”
“Just come with me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Daniel, what are you hiding?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Dad muttered under his breath but followed me toward the docks.
The morning was quiet. A pale blue sky was spreading across the lake, and the water reflected the first light of day.
A man in his late fifties stood beside a large white fishing boat, checking the equipment. When he saw us, he called out.
“Daniel?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Rick.”
We shook hands. Then Rick looked at my father.
His gaze settled on the old green hat.
For a moment, his expression changed.
“Sir,” he said carefully, “have you spent much time at this lake?”
Dad glanced toward the water.
“A long time ago.”
Rick continued staring at him. Then he looked at me.
“Could I speak with you for a moment?”
He led me a few steps away.
“He has no idea, does he?”
I smiled, assuming he was talking about the charter.
