It is the third day of playing with fishing rods and the boys have it all figured out. Small hands follow thoughts of big fish and they handle the line ever so gently but firm enough to make me wonder yet again if they’re growing too fast.
“Did you see that, mom? The fish! Did you see how it jumped?” Their voices break and bounce from here to far, much like the fish we’re eyeing. The boys are planning a fish dinner wondering every now and then if it’s cruel to the fish. It’s real, I tell them. It’s when you realize what dinner is. Gulp? But the hook… You eat what you catch, every little morsel of it and there’s no encouraging of ocean overfishing or dreadful fish farms. In their eyes I see the fine line that separates boys from growing boys. The inner workings of the world. You breathe, you eat and live in gratefulness. Will they learn? In the world that offers fast, cheap and replaceable everything, it’s easy to forget. I play the reminding witch. Again. Cast, fish some weeds, the line gets tangled. Again. I untangle their lines. Again. We can barely see the line in the dusky light but how to leave without the fish? Well, I tell them, the fish stays put for now.