Fishing Lessons

Exploring the two types of misery.

My name is Josh. My wife, Janice, and I moved our family 7,000 miles to a tropical island just north of Australia, a country called Papua New Guinea. We work with an organization called Samaritan Aviation supporting free medivac flights to the remote villages along the Sepik River where, for most people, the only hospital in an area the size of Mississippi is several days away.

We are currently back in the States for some time because we had our fourth baby. This is a bit of fishing advice from me, the grumpy dad.

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Sometimes misery finds you and introduces itself. But sometimes we create it out of thin air. Fishing is, more often than not, this kind of misery.

I say that at the risk of offending my brother, Matt. He’s is an avid fisherman, but that’s only because he has a cool boat. I do not.

Despite that, I just purchased my fishing license, even though fish make your hands slimy. The slime stinks. Fish also have random spikes that poke you. They have teeth that bite you. Of course, they are pretty tasty, so maybe it’s worth it. Then again, there are stacks of fish, already filleted, at my local supermarket, so there’s no need to go sliding down muddy river banks trying to find my own.

Or maybe there is. My six year old son named Elliot wants to go fishing and I think it’s a good idea. Why? Because being miserable creates an environment fraught with learning opportunities, and, as far as I know, fishing is the cheapest way to get miserable - If you don’t involve boats, of course. Boats cost money and spending money only increases the parent’s misery, not the child’s, and so it’s a bit counterproductive.

Now that I brought up the concept of misery, a concept most people are already familiar with, let’s discuss the two different types of misery. I bet you didn’t even know there were categories did you? When it comes to exposing your children to misery, you need to be careful because you’ll likely be experiencing it with them, so you should plan accordingly.

I like to split misery up into two main types. Active Misery, which is misery that takes effort, and Passive Misery, which is misery that takes little effort.

Active Misery is hiking up a mountain, for example. If you bring a boy under the age of six along, you’ll likely learn a lot about wilderness first aid, search and rescue, setting broken bones, making fires with nothing but wet sticks and dry sleeping bags, and using leaves (which hopefully have no itchy qualities) to tidy up the more primitive calls to the wild. Active Misery will give you more learning opportunities than the child and is best left to the rabid overachievers.

Passive Misery is sitting in a boat, bored out of your mind because the fish aren’t biting. Anything involving captive boredom, such as sitting in the DMV, is Passive Misery. Passive Misery is what I recommend to people who are not that familiar with misery and may need a gentle introduction. Fishing frequently falls into this category, which makes it the perfect gateway to the wide world of misery, unless you involve boats. Did I mention that already? Boats make things too fun, expensive, or both - unless the boat is a row boat, and you make your child row it. But that’s getting pretty close to Active Misery and you’ll likely end up rowing it anyway. You can always include boats after you’ve had enough of the misery and want to have more fun. Or if you need to experience more misery. Boats are capable of doing both. Boats are tricky. I know a lot of people who bought boats to escape their Passive Misery only to find themselves neck deep in Active Misery. Nah, for now, just avoid boats.

Many children are introduced to Passive Misery once they start attending school, like I was. But there’s something special about suffering as a parent and child on a one-on-one basis. You, as the parent, become the child’s counselor as they navigate their misery. You can give helpful advice like, “The fish only bite if you stop asking stupid questions”, “Never pee into the wind”, “Calories don’t count if you eat them in the wilderness”, “Now you know how NOT to do it”, or “The worse the weather, the better the fishing.” These lessons will stick with your child, especially if they choose to ignore your advice. Ignoring Dad’s advice is when we first begin flirting with failure. Failure is an important stepping stone to success. And obviously you want your child to be successful. So giving your kid a chance to prove you right is important, I think. Fishing offers these opportunities.

There was this one time that my dad took me deep sea fishing. This is when you go fishing out in the deep sea, a place I hadn’t been to much since I was born several hours away from the ocean. So I was excited. My dad had purchased the tickets so he had more invested than I did. My grandpa was also along, and he only ever parted ways with his money reluctantly, and only if it involved fishing or hunting. There was another dad and son duo that had tagged along. We’ll call the Dad “Huey” and the son “Hank.”

Since the ocean was a several hour drive away, we found ourselves in a van for the first part of the journey. Inevitably we soon stopped to get some gas, and some of us took this chance to go buy some quick snacks. Except Hank. Hank decided he wanted to order a custom made sandwich from the lady behind the counter. There was a long line already there, but that didn’t phase Hank. Hank got in line.

Hank was still in line by the time the rest had used the restrooms, bought our beef jerky, filled up the car with gas and had all gotten into it - except Hank, of course. He was still in line. From where we were in the car, we could see through a window and watch Hank’s slow march towards his breakfast.

This caused considerable consternation from my dad and grandpa.

“If we miss our boat because that guy wanted a special sandwich, he’s better watch out!” My grandpa, who was typically a man of few words, strung many more together. I’ll spare the details.

Dad thought it was a bit unfair that someone who got a free ticket was holding everyone else back, “Beggars can’t be choosers! He shouldn’t decide if we miss the boat or not!”

The rest of the conversation has faded into history but “Beggars can’t be choosers” has stuck with me, probably because my dad still says it all the time. I find myself repeating it to my children.

Sometimes our children can be stubborn and won’t admit we were right. And honestly, sometimes we weren’t. But one day they’ll find themselves giving their kids the same advice you gave them, and with a sigh and a wry laugh they’ll realize that you were right all along. This is how wisdom is passed on to the next generation. But it only happens if you go fishing together.

Misery also offers perspective, which is a good thing to have.

Some years ago, I went to Chihuahua, Mexico to visit my cousin who was working at an orphanage. One night we went out to eat some ice cream, which wasn’t that eventful. But an hour later I scrambled out of the back of my cousin’s car and assaulted a storm drain with a fire hose of half digested ice cream. Me, and three of my friends, spent the next three days lying flat out and moaning about how it had been a good run, but it was time to pass on. When asked how he was doing, one of my friends famously said, “I’d have to get better to die.” On one trip to the bathroom, I found myself using the sink in front of me and the toilet behind me at the same time. It was the most sick I had ever been. But now, every time I get sick I think of Mexico and smile, just a little, and think to myself, “At least I’m not that sick.” I have some perspective now.

If your children never experience misery, they’ll graduate college with blue hair and a suitcase of mythical trauma that they will blame on you. The irony is that, if you only you would have taken them fishing, they would realize that their trauma is still more fun than fishing, and they’d be grateful to have it.

So that’s why I bought my fishing license.

Of course, you can’t just have a fishing license. You need the rods, reels, hooks, worms, bobbers, lures, and who knows what else.

So I wandered into a local bait shop, followed dutifully by my two sons; Elliot, who is six, and Oliver, who is almost four. We were staring at a wall of plastic lures, rubber lures, various types and sizes of hooks, scented blobs of snot, fishing rods that cost more than my first motorcycle, and more sizes of bobbers than I knew existed. The children wanted to buy everything. I said, “No. All we need are worms. Worms catch fish. You don’t need this fancy garbage.”

We purchased what I considered to be the bare minimum amount of things and soon found ourselves at a local creek. We hooked a few trees and drowned many worms but didn’t see any fish.

“I’m bored,” Elliot said.

“Tough. Play with some worms,” I said, jiggling the styrofoam container of worms in front of his face.

“They’re gross.”

“When I was a kid, I dug for worms under my bunny hutch. Bunny poop was a great place to find worms.”

“Can we buy a bunny, Dad?”

“What? No! Fishing is all the fun we need. You can name your fish if you catch it.”

“But I’m not catching any fish.”

“Exactly. Now just sit there and watch that bobber. I have to climb the tree again. I don’t want to lose another hook.”

“Buuuut Daaaad… I’m hot. This is boring. This is…”

“Hey! Stop whining. Whiners never win. Hey. Yea, that’s pretty good. Remember that son, whiners never win.”

And so the fishing lessons have started. We’ll see if it sticks. If not, we can always try hiking a mountain.