Fun And Games With Simon

Simon Goes Fishing And Learns Patience (Kind Of)

Simon fidgeted in his chair as his father repeated the information about collecting the tenants’ rents for the one hundredth time. At least to Simon’s wandering mind, it seemed like his father had said the same thing one hundred times.

His father peered over his reading glasses. His expression wasn’t quite a scowl, but frustration knitted his brow. “Do you understand, Simon?”

“Yes, Father.” At ten years old, Simon struggled to listen, but his attention had been captured by the cool spring breeze fluttering the curtains in his father’s study, not to mention the yellow wagtail who perched on the windowsill and mocked Simon as if to say, “Poor lad. Trapped inside on this fine day when all I have to do is flap my wings and fly to freedom.”

“Well, repeat it back to me.”

Oh. Bollocks. Simon snickered at his new favorite word, although he was careful never to say it out loud around Mother.

Father’s eyebrow twitched. “Simon? Repeat it back.”

“Um, treat the tenants fairly?” Thank goodness he remembered that much.

“Yes. And if they say they can’t pay their rent?”

“Throw them out?”

Simon’s stomach dropped in the same manner as his father’s shaking head.

“No, no, Simon. First, you ask them why they can’t pay. Is someone ill and can’t work? Did they have an arrival of a new baby? You try to understand why. Then, you see what you can do to help. That might mean giving them extra time to pay, or providing extra supplies for them. Treating the tenants fairly means you listen. But there are times when you must be firm. Can you tell me when those might be?”

“No,” Simon admitted, hanging his own head in shame. He peeked up at the sound of his father’s sigh. “I’m sorry, Papa, but the birds are singing and the air smells so fresh and sweet.”

“Hmm. Maybe it’s time for a different lesson.”

Careful to keep it to himself, inwardly, Simon groaned. He was so tired of lessons. All he wanted to do was run outside and play.

His father closed the ledger in front of him and rose from his desk. “Come with me.”

Dutifully, Simon followed his father, wondering what type of lesson took place away from Papa’s study. When his father gathered fishing rods, creel, and the tackle bag, Simon’s body tingled with excitement. “Fishing, Papa? What lesson will I learn?”

Papa’s lips tipped up, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Uh-oh. Simon knew that look.

“Patience,” Papa said.

A chill swept through Simon’s body at the word, but he remained silent. Anything was better than sitting in the chair and listening to Papa lecture about taking care of the tenants.

They walked in silence toward the river, the rushing waters welcoming them as they grew near.

Of course, Simon had been fishing before. Papa had taught him, and he’d gone often with his friends, Toad and Edgar, so what would they do differently for Papa to teach him patience?

Papa pulled out a thing that looked a lot like a big bug from the tackle bag.

“What’s that?” he asked, stepping closer.

“This, my boy, is a very special lure. We’re going to use it to try to catch Big Gus.”

Simon’s eyes widened. He’d heard Papa talking about Big Gus to one of their neighbors, and to hear Papa tell the story, the brown trout was as big as their hunting dog Buster.

“Not worms?”

Papa shook his head. “Gus doesn’t care about a little worm. He’s a hungry devil, and this will get him to bite. See these?” Papa pointed at the hooks protruding from the bug‑looking thing’s end.

Simon nodded.

Papa wrapped a feather carefully around the hooks. “Big Gus will see a juicy bug, and when he takes a bite”—Papa snapped the lure away—“he’ll get a mouthful of hooks.”

Simon baited his own line, pushing a fat worm onto his hook, and stood next to Papa on the bank of the river, still unsure what this had to do with a lesson on patience.

An hour later, he had his answer. Papa had flicked the line with the fancy lure so many times, Simon had lost count, but it probably equaled the same number of times his mind wandered. He dropped his pole and slouched down on the ground so bored he could cry. And he certainly didn’t want to cry, especially in front of Papa.

Simon hated patience.

He wanted to ask how much longer the lesson would last, but he’d already done so several times, only to receive a disappointed look from Papa. Brushing his hand over the tall grass, he found a bug not too unlike the rubbery one Papa was using to tempt Gus.

“Papa, may I use this on my hook?” He held up the beetle.

Papa smiled! Surely a good sign.

“No,” he said, and Simon’s hopes dropped with a plunk not unlike the sound of the lure hitting the water. “But”—Papa grinned—“you may use this.” Papa handed Simon the rod with the special lure and reel.

Simon jumped to his feet, joy bubbling through him like the rushing river.

After placing the rod in Simon’s hands, Papa stood behind him and showed him how to create the flicking motion of the line, which made it seem as if the bug was flitting across the top of the water.

So much better than dropping your line in the water and waiting. Simon loved the movement.

Hands on his hips, Papa watched Simon. Perhaps the lesson in patience was for Papa.

The thought flew out of his mind as quickly as the lure flitted across the glassy sheen of the river. Simon stuck his tongue out and concentrated, doing his best to mimic Papa’s wrist motion.

“That’s it,” Papa whispered.

Simon darted a glance up to Papa, pleased to see him smiling. Pride swelled in Simon’s chest. Captivated by the movement, he stopped counting the seconds or number of times he flicked the line and lure over the water—lost in the beauty of the action and the silence surrounding him.

Suddenly, something tugged on his line. Hard. His whole body lurched forward from the pull. “Papa!”

Simon’s call was hardly necessary. Papa had already sprung into action, coming behind him once again, and wrapping his arms around Simon’s waist to anchor his body. “Reel him in.”

Simon tried, but the force pulling against his line was too great. His hand hurt, fingers red and burning from gripping the winch’s knob and turning with all his might.

Forming an arch, the rod bowed, and Simon struggled to keep it from slipping from his weakening grasp.

“Give him a little line,” Papa said.

Simon let the line reel back out a little, then tried to pull it back again, and his fingers cramped. He didn’t like pain. In fact, he hated it. But he wanted to catch Big Gus, so he summoned all his strength, and he reeled it back again. The ripples on the water from where the big fish fought grew closer and closer to the shore.

“Almost there,” Papa said, his voice almost like Mother’s when she’d coo and kiss his skinned knees. “Almost there. Don’t lose him.”

His whole body seemed energized, as if the bubbles forming on the surface of the water raced through him. He was going to catch Big Gus!

Then, with a snap, the line broke, and Simon tumbled back, fell against his father, and landed on his bottom while he watched Big Gus leave a trail of ripples behind him as he raced off down the river.

Moments passed before Simon had the courage to peer up at Papa, not quite ready to see the disappointment in his eyes.

But Papa smiled. “How did that feel, Simon?”

Simon rubbed his bottom. “Not good.”

Papa laughed. “No. I meant while you had him on the line, while he tugged and fought against you?”

Thinking about it took a moment. and Simon wasn’t quite sure how to explain his feelings. “Surprised but happy. Proud that I had him. Then sad when he broke free.”

Papa nodded. “Was the wait worth the good feelings?”

Lips pursed, Simon wasn’t sure. “It would have been worth it if I had caught him.”

“But you did catch him; you simply didn’t land him. Does that make you want to keep trying?”

Simon gave his father a vigorous nod.

“Even if it means waiting and perhaps losing him again?”

What was Papa trying to get at? “I suppose.”

Papa laughed and tousled Simon’s hair. “The best things in life sometimes require patience and maybe even a fight. You think you have lost, but you keep trying until finally . .  .”

“You catch the biggest and best fish in the whole world.”

“Exactly.”

As they packed up their tackle and walked back to the house in silence, Simon had the feeling Papa’s lesson meant more than simply catching fish.