Bass Fishing Lures and Memories
The day before I returned from my week-end trip from Lake Zurich, Illinois. I was accompanied by a couple of friends and my folks, I savored 3 days and 2 night of true, unadulterated bliss. Day times were passed in bass fishing, drinking premium chardonnay from France, chit chat and tons of laughter. My sons passed their day with their granddaddy putting the bait on bass fishing lures.
I remembered growing up in the deep south. My dad used to take us angling in the Mississippi. Nice, sunny days were spent getting our bass fishing lures ready. Then papa used to hold our hands and toss the lures deep into the river. My brother used to get the most amount of take, though I constantly got the best bass.
My dad used to give us advice on bass fishing, where and how to get the bass fishing lures, and how to make the best bass treats. I would learn as he gave us advice on life, between swigs of his beloved beer, and the nice fuzzy feeling I would get as used to take my hand when we would reel the bass in.
I am twenty one, but it still feels good to go on these trips with Pop and hear him regale us with his tales of how he caught the biggest bass South of Birmingham, Alabama or how his best mate, Jimbo, whose wife thought he was cheating on him, because he spent all his time outside the house, doing nothing but bass fishing.
As we were laughing around the breakfast table, with pop spreading the mirth with his stories, I accidently fell across a box of bass fishing lures. A thousand and one childhood memories came to my mind. Out of all of those images which deluded my brain, one lingered on for a long time.
This goes back to the time when papa used to work down at the boat factory. The big recession of 84 had pretty much killed the boating industry down South. pop was at home for a year without a job. Though he was depressed and dejected, every Sunday he used to take us down to the pier for “catching them bass” as he used to say.
Sometimes I used to catch a big one and ma used to cook it for me. Then pa would take the bass fishing lure that I had caught the bass with, kiss it, and place it into a green colored paper box of bass fishing lures. He would then throw me a kiss and say, “you are my good luck charm, aren’t ya!”.
Its been a quarter of a century since then, but its ironic how a boxful of bass fishing lures can enliven a daddy’s girl from the deep south to dream on.
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