The Breeze Magazine of the Lowcountry JUNE 2020

Ben remembered it well. The tiny island resort. The
saltwater pool. The cigar he had smoked with this dad,
and how sick it made him. “I sure do,” he said with
gusto, “I was fifteen, as I recall. You remember our guide,
Marvin? He couldn’t pronounce the letter V. Everything
with a V was pronounced as a W?”
Ben’s father began to belly laugh. “Oh yeah, I remember.
And that cigar. I don’t know what was greener, it or you
after two puffs.”
The two men stood in the boat laughing. A father and a
son. Together. The distance between them closer than
the difference in age or any of the strife over the years.
Then, in a flash, a strike. “Woah, woah,” called Ben,
quickly pulling up his rod and setting the hook. He
expected a flood of instruction, but none came. He
glanced at his father, who instead of instructing watched
from his position on the bow.
A splash in the grass revealed the coveted spotted tail
of a redfish. “It’s a good one son,” his father called out.
“Slow and steady. I have the net.”
Ben reeled and as he did thought of all the time spent
together on that water, in that boat. “Never been
skunked when we fish together,” Ben excitedly said.
“You haven’t landed him yet,” teased his father. “Don’t
let him beat you,” he cheered, “keep that rod tip up. I am
ready with the net.”
When Ben finally got the redfish close to the boat it
became apparent just how good it was. “It’s a bull!” Ben
nearly dropped his pole. “I cannot believe we landed a
bull red!”
His father netted the large fish and Ben helped him lift
it into the boat. “Would you look at that,” his father
said, “better take a picture or no one will believe us.”
They both marveled at the beauty of the catch as they
snapped pictures.
“Guess we have to toss him back,” Ben sighed. “I tell
you, though. This one was special.”
Ben lifted the red drum up with both hands and gave
him a kiss on the nose. Ben’s father snapped one more
picture on his phone and just as soon as it had begun, the
big red was gone with one flick of his mighty tail.
Ben sat on the cooler and his father took a seat in the
captain’s chair. “Look at that sunset,” Ben said pointing
at the fading sun. Ben’s father took off his glasses and
wiped his brow with his sleeve.
“I love you dad,” Ben said spontaneously. “I know getting
older is hard. I don’t have any wisdom for you there. I can
tell you though, you’ve been a great dad.”
Sometimes silence is the only response that is needed.
Often, between the two of them, it was the best way
they communicated.
Ben’s father stood up and walked over to his son. He
wore a sweet and tender smile, one that acknowledged
his son’s words. He bent over and kissed Ben on the
head.
“I know you do, son,” he said softly, “and I am so proud
of you. More than you will ever know.”
“Son,” his father continued, “I’ll get the anchor. Why
don’t you steer us home.”
Ben nodded. Sometimes, though, words demand action.
His father’s kiss and affirmation filled his well beyond
measure.
As Ben put the motor into gear, he thought about
his first memory in that boat. His father, likely his age
now, standing tall and tanned. Firmly planted behind
the wheel. His mind drifted to his own two boys.
“Tomorrow,” he said “we’ve got to introduce my boys to
this golden hour tradition.”
His father smiled, “I thought you would never ask.”
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