I remember the day my Dad taught me how to fish.
I was small. Don’t ask me how old I was exactly (I was somewhere between Polly Pockets and Barbies.) It was the biggest deal in the world when Dad took me out on a canoe and taught me how to fish.
He always hooked the worms for me and I just squirmed before tossing the line into the great big lake.
Until, one day, he told me to hook the worm for myself. I shook my head at first; but dad told me he knew that I could do it. So I put on my big girl face and I did it. We all ate trout for dinner that night.
Now my dad is teaching me other things.
Driving a standard. This is no easy task (for dad or for me.) There was one moment when I wondered what that burning smell was and then realized it was the clutch on my dad’s car (note to self: you shouldn’t start off on third gear.) Sigh. Poor dad.
(Poor dad’s car.)
But he’s ever so patient. My dad. Even when I see that slight grimace on his face (he is human, after all,) I know that he will take me out once again tomorrow. And even though hooking a worm and driving a standard makes me quiver with fear, I do it anyways.
Because Dad knows I can.