Hook, Line, and Bobber
🐟 Fishing for Kindness at Conneaut Lake
When I was a little tomboy girl, my Dad used to take me fishing on the dock at Conneaut Lake near Meadville, Pennsylvania. I was a pipsqueak… maybe five or six. Here’s me and Dad when I was a little younger.
When I say ‘take me fishing’, I am using that phrase very loosely. My Dad gave me a small pole with a rod a reel (not too much line), and my favorite part…. a red and white bobber attached to the line with a small hook and a worm. 🐍
I was really a terrible fisherman. Dad had to put the squirmy worm on the hook. And if I caught anything….well, more about that in a minute.
But one thing I really loved about fishing… the bobber. It was about the size of a ping pong ball, half white, half red. Plastic. The line with the hook hung down just a few feet into the water from the bobber.
Most of the time Conneaut Lake was peaceful… a shiny mirror reflecting the clouds and blue sky. The bobber would float silently on the surface. I would watch it, mesmerized, holding that rod oh-so-still, waiting for even the tiniest flinch.
On the lucky days, eventually that bobber would do a dipsy doodle, a quick dive down under water, followed by a series of bobs, like bobbing for apples…and I knew I had just become a fisherman.
With a quick yank… I’m sure I was a huge disappointment to my Dad in the ‘art of fishing category’… I would try to land my catch, usually forgetting that I was supposed to reel it in. Sometimes it actually worked. Hah, to all you professional fishermen.
The catch was either perch or sunfish.🐟 They were small, even by a six year old’s standards. And here’s where I tell you about part 2 of my being a terrible fisherman. Holding the fish was icky. Plus the poor little fish was usually sporting a hook in the side of its mouth. I went from thrilled at the catch to looking hopefully at my Dad for his help. We were a team, after all.
It was always catch and release for us. No sense in keeping a fish that would only provide hor d’oeuvres for one… and even that was questionable.
Dad was always my hero when we went fishing on the dock. He was my bait-man, my hook-remover-man, and my biggest cheerleader when that bobber went bobbing. He had very low standards where my fishing prowess was concerned.
Well, here I go, on and on about bobbers and fishing. What does this have to do with kindness… yes, I know you are wondering.
Bobbers are like people. No, not because they’re round and plastic…
Silly.
Because we toss ourselves out there like a bobber, letting it float about on its own, hoping someone will notice and give a little tug. Waiting for that dipsy doodle bob that tells us someone has grabbed on. Someone is interested.
Just a moment of recognition. A kind word. A smile. Or maybe someone putting their arms around you and giving you a great big hug.
Bob. Bob. Bob. Look at that Bobber Bob. Now haul it in for a big Kindness Catch. Remember, it’s catch and release…don’t worry, it’s never ‘icky’ to grab these catches… so, after you’ve enjoyed your catch, be sure to throw it back in to create more kindness ripples. My Dad would be proud of you. Me, too. 🐟 💚
May your week be filled with kindness. 💚
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Neophilia, Route 66, and the Burros of Oatman
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"Dad was always my hero when we went fishing on the dock. He was my bait-man, my hook-remover-man, and my biggest cheerleader when that bobber went bobbing. " Such fine memories for you, Heather. He looks like a lovely man. And, though I am sure everyone has already told you, in this photo you look EXACTLY like him. Same face - old and young version. It is uncanny. I was so tickled by the video of the bobber! This whole piece was just delightful - and a perfect metaphor for kindness. I would love to hear more about your father. Thank you, Heather.
Aww!! What a cutie! Love that pic of you and your dad! Made me remember days of fishing with my dad and that exact same bobber! We did our fishing in Mammoth Lakes in CA. Great memories! Thanks for a great article!