Saturday, June 20, 2009
"I'm going fishing, Mommy." My youngest son's voice carried excitement down the hallway where he was playing dress-up. A few moments later he appeared, ready for action (but still in his monkey pajamas); hiking stick-turned fishing pole in hand, dad's beer-drinking hat on head, life jacket securely fastened.
Proceeding with purpose towards the lid of the dress-up box, he packed his blanket and a few stuffed animals inside and took off to hook the big one. I found out just how big when, a few minutes later, he announced he had caught a barracuda. "How do you prepare a barracuda?" our intern E. asked. "Well, you just cut it all up and put it in the microwave of course," our little fisherman replied.
I wish I had that sort of imagination. Or, at least, held on to the imagination that used to carry me through many a long summer day. Remember that? Building forts in the cedar trees in our backyard, pretending the indians were coming (no PC worries back in the 1970's), digging a foxhole in the neighbor's vacant lot, imagining that we were across the world escaping the enemy.
I love watching my youth regenerate itself through my own kids. Seems the general idea is still very much the same...I don't think I went fishing for barracuda, however.