When I was a kid, my grandfather, Papa, used to look after me in the summer time when I was out of school. Most days were spent around the house, working in the yard, trying to stay cool. Every so often, Papa would say, "Why don't we go fishing?" My heart would leap at this prospect. It meant making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, going to buy worms, and loading everything up into the car and heading out to Benbrook Lake.

Benbrook Lake was not a very exciting place. I think it was a reservoir of some sort, created by damming a small river. However, there were some great places to just sit on the bank and waste away an afternoon.

When I say "fishing" really I mean fighting ants and drowning worms. Very few fish were ever caught, and the ones that were caught were much too small to do anything with except throw back. Perch, they were called, and they could really "fin" you if you weren't careful. That was something I learned early on. Fishing also only consisted of bamboo poles with no reels on them…just a long string with a hook on the end.

We would always stop at the same little bait shop on the way. There were all sorts of exotic baits and lures there, but Papa and I knew that the best bait was a plain old worm. We had lots of worms in the yard at home, but Papa said those were to keep the grass healthy so we didn't want to drown them. Worms (or night crawlers if we were lucky) came in a styrofoam cup with dirt in it. I liked to take the lid off and fish around in the cup looking to see if we had gotten an extra worm. There were supposed to be ten per container, but sometimes one got cut in half and we got eleven. Very exciting to get eleven! I used to wonder if the worms knew what they were in for. Did they have brains? I figured they probably didn't since I couldn't see a head or eyes on their long slithery bodies.

At first, I could never put the worms on the hooks by myself. Earthworms bleed red, just like people, so I figured it must hurt them. It concerned me greatly for a while, but I guess I got over it. I figured if I complained too much, we wouldn't come out any more. Soon I was baiting my own hook like a pro. I could make it so the entire hook was covered so the little fish couldn't just swipe the worm and not get hooked…well, not as easily anyway.

The true excitement of the day was lunch. On fishing days, we got to eat different food. Peanut butter and jelly, Little Debbies, sometimes even fat juicy oranges. Of course, the ants loved our outings, too, and I hated the ants. Fishing gear also consisted of a brand new can of "Off" which was sprayed in a circle on the ground, which I proceeded to sit inside. Worked pretty good with touch ups throughout the day. A well-placed orange peel five feet away from me usually kept the ants occupied.

The best part of the day was just sitting with my Papa. Sometimes we would talk about school and my friends, who I hardly ever liked. I would tell Papa how silly they were to get so upset about goofy things. He would assure me that some people were just like that and that it didn't mean they weren't good people, just different. Sometimes we would sing together. "How Much Is That Doggy In The Window" was a favorite. Papa would sing the main part of the song and I would add the "barks" at all the appropriate places. Sometimes we would just sit in silence, each of us thinking our own thoughts. My thoughts usually consisted of contemplation of a rock and how it got to be that color. I'm sure some of my questions seemed to come out of no where, but I had usually been thinking about them for quite a while before deciding that I couldn't figure it out and needed outside input. Papa always had an answer of some sort, even if it was, "I don't know." Sometimes it was all right not to know the answer and just to continue wondering.

Texas being as hot as it is in the summer, the end of the day was always welcome. We'd pack up everything into the Pinto and head home, just in time to make dinner for my mom and Grannie. They would ask how the day had been and I would usually answer, "Fine." It was like I didn't want them to know how much I had enjoyed the day. If they had known, they might want to come along, and I didn't want them to. Fishing days were for just Papa and me. They would have been ruined if anyone else had come along. Someone else might have talked too much, or complained too much about the ants, or not enough for that matter. Fishing requires quietness, you know, so you don't scare the fish.