I’ve been remembering childhood moments lately, and it really hit home that I had superb parents. I thought I’d share a few of those parental moments here, in the hopes that maybe my stories will inspire young parents elsewhere.
My dad, whom I called Daddy until the day he died at the age of 83, was a simple man who never had a problem finding his inner child. Daddy was childlike in many ways, and that playfulness endeared him to everyone. But as sweet and innocent as he generally was, he was an incredibly hard worker, and provided well for his family. Part of that hard-work attitude came from the fact that his parents died when he was just 8 years old, and he had to quit school and work for the people who took him in. That meant farm labor, generally, as well as hunting and fishing to put food on the table.
Daddy grew up to be a supervisor at a chemical plant, making good money, but he never stopped gardening, hunting and fishing, and he always included his kids in the process of getting food for the family.
As a kid, I wasn’t fond of gardening or hunting, but I loved to fish. From the time I was 4 years old, every Saturday morning, at 4:00 a.m. sharp, Daddy would wake me up to go fishing. While I stood around, groggily trying to wake up, I’d watch Daddy prepare our lunch for the day. He always made me a cream-and-sugar sandwich (it is exactly what it sounds like it is) and he’d make a bologna sandwich for himself. He’d then add some snacks (chips and cookies usually) and some Cokes to the ice chest and we’d head out.
I wore glasses as a kid, but I never put them on during the trip to whichever bayou we were headed to. Since it was still dark out, I liked to look at the street lights and the lights on the old Mississippi River bridge without my glasses, because they’d be all fuzzy and pretty – like stars. Once we’d reach our destination, we’d spend all day paddling around in our little bateau (small boat) amongst the cypress trees to find the best fishing spots.
In those days, there was a lot more Spanish moss hanging from those beautiful old cypress trees. Although time and people have taken a toll on moss over the years, and we don’t see it nearly as much anymore, we do still see lots and lots of water mocassins – there were plenty of snakes then, and there are plenty still. At least once per trip, we’d generally have a large snake drop into our boat from a limb above, but luckily Daddy’s reflexes were quick, and he’d flip it out of the boat before it had fully landed (usually with a paddle).
We’d drift along, threading worms onto hooks, and catching mostly catfish and bream throughout the day. Because the fish tended to congregate near tree stumps (cypress knees), there was always a strong likelihood of me casting my line into branches, and getting the line “caught” and tangled. But no matter how many times I got my line caught, Daddy would patiently paddle to the area of the tangled line, and free the line for me. Never once did he even sigh from impatience.
During the morning, we’d munch on snacks and drink our sodas, but as noon approached, I’d excitedly wait for Daddy to pull out my cream-and-sugar sandwich. Oh it was awesome by then. Why? Because by then, it would have turned all soggy and mushy, with a little worm dirt from my fingers thrown in, and it was the most wonderful food in all the world. Weekly fishing trips were the ONLY time I had those sandwiches, and only Daddy ever made them for me, so they represented a very special bond between us.
Later, as the sun would start to set, we’d return to the dock, put the boat back onto the trailer attached to the pickup truck, and head home. We’d usually haul in about 30 or 40 fish. When we got home, we’d spend an hour or so cleaning the fish, saving a few for supper that night, and freezing the rest for future meals.
The fishing trips ended when I was about 12 or so, because of course, by then, my pre-teen interests were elsewhere. Luckily though, by that time, my parents had bought a camp (like an old cabin) that was sandwiched between two bodies of water. In front was a large lake, and in back was a bayou. The camp was raised because the lake often overflowed the banks and felt compelled to meet the bayou, resulting in water under the camp. At those times, it wasn’t uncommon to hear (and feel) the thump, thump, thump of alligators mating under the camp. My parents owned the camp until they died (it’s still in the family), so as we all grew up and had families of our own, we had a place to go when we wanted to fish and just hang out.
Maybe some other time, I’ll tell tales about my incredible Mom, who was the queen of mom-dom. But for now, since this is getting long, I’ll just say that she completely devoted her life to her family, and nothing was too much for her kids. If it meant being the head of every school club, or the coach of a school team, she’d do whatever needed doing to ensure her kids were healthy and happy. Most of all though, no one ever questioned her ability to love – and we all learned what love really is from her (and of course Daddy too).
Young parents often struggle to be good parents, but I hope at least a few of them understand that spending time with their kids, being patient with their kids, and loving them beyond all measure will go a long, long way towards creating a happy, healthy family.
As this year comes close to ending, I hope everyone looks forward with plans for good times to come. So let me wish you a Happy New Year! May 2009 be a wonderful year for you and your family.
- Follow Akesana on Twitter to stay connected.
