Grandpa always knew where the fish would be, since he had nearly every single rock and deep hole memorized in the Wabash River. I, on the other hand, didn’t know from beans, where those elusive catfish and other swimming creatures were hiding. When I was very young, it seemed that Grandpa was reeling in one fish after another while I just sat and watched in amazement. After a spell, I did get bored and began to make-believe that I had fish biting on my hook. Grandpa would just laugh and say, “R. L., I think you are just getting water bites!” Oh, occasionally I would snag a pieced of wood or something else drifting downstream that had found its way onto my hook. It took years of watching and studying Grandpa, who I thought was the greatest fisherman in the world, before I could even begin to catch anything worth taking home for Grandma to fry for our supper.
At least once while I stayed at my grandparents, we would pack a picnic lunch and take a trip to some point of interest. One of those trips took us to a large rock that overlooked a river. Now I don’t know if it was the Wabash or not, but legend has it that two Indian braves fought over an Indian princess high atop that rocky outcrop. As the story goes, during the scuffle, one of those men fell to his death as a result of that battle over love.I have so many spring break memories, and none of them include crowded beaches in Florida or bathtubs filled with beer or mind-altering drugs. They don’t include bikini-clad girls, although I wouldn’t have minded a few (several actually) waiting on the riverside. But that’s okay. The memories that I have will never be diluted, nor will I ever have to make up any stories or exaggerate anything to impress my friends. The above story was and always will be the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.
Contact Raymond Snoke at firstname.lastname@example.org.