Ben remembered it well. <strong>The</strong> tiny island resort. <strong>The</strong> saltwater pool. <strong>The</strong> 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 <strong>the</strong> letter V. Everything with a V was pronounced as a W?” Ben’s fa<strong>the</strong>r began to belly laugh. “Oh yeah, I remember. And that cigar. I don’t know what was greener, it or you after two puffs.” <strong>The</strong> two men stood in <strong>the</strong> boat laughing. A fa<strong>the</strong>r and a son. Toge<strong>the</strong>r. <strong>The</strong> distance between <strong>the</strong>m closer than <strong>the</strong> difference in age or any <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> strife over <strong>the</strong> years. <strong>The</strong>n, in a flash, a strike. “Woah, woah,” called Ben, quickly pulling up his rod and setting <strong>the</strong> hook. He expected a flood <strong>of</strong> instruction, but none came. He glanced at his fa<strong>the</strong>r, who instead <strong>of</strong> instructing watched from his position on <strong>the</strong> bow. A splash in <strong>the</strong> grass revealed <strong>the</strong> coveted spotted tail <strong>of</strong> a redfish. “It’s a good one son,” his fa<strong>the</strong>r called out. “Slow and steady. I have <strong>the</strong> net.” Ben reeled and as he did thought <strong>of</strong> all <strong>the</strong> time spent toge<strong>the</strong>r on that water, in that boat. “Never been skunked when we fish toge<strong>the</strong>r,” Ben excitedly said. “You haven’t landed him yet,” teased his fa<strong>the</strong>r. “Don’t let him beat you,” he cheered, “keep that rod tip up. I am ready with <strong>the</strong> net.” When Ben finally got <strong>the</strong> redfish close to <strong>the</strong> 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 fa<strong>the</strong>r netted <strong>the</strong> large fish and Ben helped him lift it into <strong>the</strong> boat. “Would you look at that,” his fa<strong>the</strong>r said, “better take a picture or no one will believe us.” <strong>The</strong>y both marveled at <strong>the</strong> beauty <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> catch as <strong>the</strong>y snapped pictures. “Guess we have to toss him back,” Ben sighed. “I tell you, though. This one was special.” Ben lifted <strong>the</strong> red drum up with both hands and gave him a kiss on <strong>the</strong> nose. Ben’s fa<strong>the</strong>r snapped one more picture on his phone and just as soon as it had begun, <strong>the</strong> big red was gone with one flick <strong>of</strong> his mighty tail. Ben sat on <strong>the</strong> cooler and his fa<strong>the</strong>r took a seat in <strong>the</strong> captain’s chair. “Look at that sunset,” Ben said pointing at <strong>the</strong> fading sun. Ben’s fa<strong>the</strong>r took <strong>of</strong>f 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 <strong>the</strong>re. I can tell you though, you’ve been a great dad.” Sometimes silence is <strong>the</strong> only response that is needed. Often, between <strong>the</strong> two <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong>m, it was <strong>the</strong> best way <strong>the</strong>y communicated. Ben’s fa<strong>the</strong>r 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 <strong>the</strong> head. “I know you do, son,” he said s<strong>of</strong>tly, “and I am so proud <strong>of</strong> you. More than you will ever know.” “Son,” his fa<strong>the</strong>r continued, “I’ll get <strong>the</strong> anchor. Why don’t you steer us home.” Ben nodded. Sometimes, though, words demand action. His fa<strong>the</strong>r’s kiss and affirmation filled his well beyond measure. As Ben put <strong>the</strong> motor into gear, he thought about his first memory in that boat. His fa<strong>the</strong>r, likely his age now, standing tall and tanned. Firmly planted behind <strong>the</strong> 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 fa<strong>the</strong>r smiled, “I thought you would never ask.” 52
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