 | |
| Fishing with Dad |
My
former self, a woman in her early 20's, is immersed in a thick
patch of what some would call dark nights of the soul.
Reaching my
breaking point, I get in my car and aimlessly start driving. For
some unknown reason, desperation pushes me toward my father and his
cabin.
The
cabin is my Dad's home away from home and has been in my life since
early childhood. It is here that I learned to thread a worm onto a
hook, relish sunrises and listen deeply to the voices of nature. Just
walking onto that familiar land soothes my soul and as I approach my
dad, my stoicism crumbles. As I stand across from him, the dam
breaks and uncontrolled words gush out of my mouth before I can
stop them. They pack quite a punch as big tears roll down
my face.
“I
am so unhappy. I hate my life. I hate myself. I hate being on this
planet. I want to kill myself. I don't know what to do. I am at the
end of my rope.”
My dad
looks at me, a bit dumbfounded. I am sure he did not intend to spend
his carefree Saturday afternoon with a hysterical daughter. His brown
eyes sink deeply into mine and after a minute or two of silence, his
response is simple.
“Let's
Go Fishing.”
Now, I
don't mind telling you, this makes me so mad that I can not give
voice to all of the questions that start rolling around in my head.
“Did you hear what I just said? I WANT TO KILL MYSELF!! Can you
not see how much pain I am in? Do you think I am joking? What good is
fishing going to do? I want you to help me!”
My
unacknowledged pain swells as I watch him walk toward the
storage room to get the battery for the fishing boat off of the
battery charger. My last glimmer of hope fades as I see him place
that heavy battery on the dolly to roll it toward the lake. All I know
to do is go along with him. I pick up the bucket of worms and
trail behind him.
I can't
remember how long we stayed on the water or if we caught any fish
that afternoon. I do remember that instead of insisting that I do it
for myself, Dad put those squirmy worms on my hook that day. We
floated around without talking as nature held us in her arms. When we
came ashore, I got out of the boat, looked at him and said, “Thank
you.” I knew he had given me all he knew how to give me and in that
moment, it was enough.
Dad
shared his time, presence and passion for fishing with me. He
separated me from the height of my angst by moving me into a state of
quiet being. As I started to walk toward my car, he said, “It will
pass. Things will get better.” I didn't believe him at the time
but I couldn't help but notice that I felt better than I did a few
hours earlier, even though I didn't understand why.
Many
times, I have revisited that experience in my life. It still comforts
me to this day. Why did it work? Why did going fishing make me feel
better? I think it is because my dad loved fishing more than anyone
could say. It was a consistent joy for him during all of the years
that he lived on this earth. I thought he was lucky to find
something that could capture his spirit and hold it so tightly. And
it thrilled him to share his love for fishing with others. With this
sharing, joy expanded. As we sat in the boat on that lake, I could
feel his love for fishing and his love for me. I guess that's what I needed the most. To feel love.
It was
not until I stumbled upon the world of painting that I really
understood how gratifying it is to discover your true passion and
share it with others. To spread the joy. To make it bigger. To make
it brighter. My hope is to follow in my father's footsteps with my
own unique twist. My wish is to share my passion for painting with
others. Whatever comes from that will be good, even if we don't quite
understand why.
It was customary to hear my dad say, "I'm gone fishin'.''
Me? Well.....I guess I'll be saying, "I'm gone paintin'.''
and you're invited too.... click below to see possibilities...
Blessings,
Beverly
Keaton Smith
(TIP)
The Intuitive Painting Place
400
Monroe Street
Clinton,
MS 39056
Photo taken by Barbara Keaton
