Ima Belcher, Not a Fisherwoman

My grandfather Ike used to have an old wooden row boat. It was originally blue. And then we painted it white. And for the longest time it was blue and white. And when it was my turn to bail the sucker, I would squeeze bits and pieces of lead paint from the sponge right into the crystal clear waters of Arnold Lake.





I'm not sure if I've told you the story about when my father rowed me down to the other end of the lake in that said rowboat and took me fishing. I may have been 6. Possibly 7.





He made me bait my own worm.





And then we would sit. for. what. seemed. like. hours.





And if we did catch something, I had to take that slimy sunny off the hook myself.






My father would belch and fart. And I would cry to have him take me back home.





He must have been cognizant of the fact that he was ruining any sort of love of fishing that I might have ever had.






He's not a stupid man.



And I know he really loves fishing.





But I don't really think he ever anticipated me....




coming to some day love the belching and farting thing. That completely backfired on him.






These boys might not remember enjoying the walleye fish fry. They may not remember not having to bait their own minnows. Or not having to take any fish off of any line.



But I am 100% sure...





they'll remember how fast that Mercury 225 hp engine went.