A true Fish Tale.

I don’t have a “Bucket list” just yet (I’m still not conceding death is an inevitable option) but do have a “Parent list,” a list of about 10 things I want to do with my children before they leave home.

This happened 7 years ago when my son, Johnny, was 10 years old. I had recently checked off “Flying kites” and “Going fishing” was on deck.

We decided on a Sunday afternoon and immediately started by packing a picnic basket. True, I had never really been fishing and only imagined what I should do…but a picnic basket seemed like a no brainer. My daughter made ham sandwiches and packed them for us.

On the way out the door I shrewdly remembered we’d be sitting in grass and grabbed a throw blanket for us to sit on while fishing.

We went to WalMart and bought fishing poles. We found a public lake nearby and set up our gear and lay down the throw blanket.

I tried to demonstrate casting for Johnny. “Watch me, honey. This is how you want to do it.” I shanked it into the marshy grass.

After untangling it I realized in addition to a flubbing the cast I had not baited the hook. I had forgotten to buy bait and had to improvise.

What to do?

Those ham sandwiches had stringy, soggy slivers of ham that I reasoned could be confused for a worm by a fish that wasn’t paying attention or had below average intelligence.

So, we baited our lines with ham and cast like two men who had never before had to eat what they killed. Our lines intertwined and as we tried to unravel them it began to rain…..

A Fish and Wild Life officer pulled into our lake and walked toward us and barked, “Excuse me. Do you have a fishing license?” I said, “Oh no! I didn’t know we needed a license officer.”

He looked at the intertwined fishing lines with soggy ham hanging from the hooks and then at the throw blanket we were standing on and said in an almost whisper,

“You don’t fish much do you, sir?”

There was really no point in me responding. It was what is called a rhetorical question—a questioning device that is rarely used by law enforcement unless the person being questioned has failed so badly at something that further evidence isn’t necessary.

He let us off with a warning and we packed our belongings and sat in the car waiting for the rain to let up and split the second ham sandwich.

My son noted, “I’ve never been arrested before, Dad.” I explained this whole episode would help with his “street cred” at school but not not give too much detail about the cause of our brush with the law.

We both seemed to like the idea of feeling a little like outlaws, especially if it meant not having to fish.

Afterwards we drove to a more modern place for fathers and sons– where we played video games and miniature golf and raced go carts.

None of which were on my “Parent’s List,” which I have since thrown away.