Thursday, December 3, 2009


When I was little my adopted grandfather, Cliff, took me fishing. We went out on this small boat and finished for the better part of the day. I got so frustrated because every time I caught a fish he would make throw it back. I eventually got to the point of not seeing the purpose of fishing. Now that I'm in college, i've done my fair share of fishing. I feel a tug. It feels pretty good. I'm reeling it in, and then the line breaks. OR. I don't get any bites. OR. I get nibble. Then it's pulling hard. I'm reeling it in and everything is going great. Every thing is as it should be. Things are started to look up. I start to feel good about this one. I start to think I've finally caught something worth keeping. But then I reel it in. And I hear a voice that says throw it back in. Sometimes i keep it, thinking it will be OK. But that voice is right. I realize that the voice is right. So I toss it back, or it flops back in the water all by itself. And I keep fishin'. Hoping that one day, I'll catch something I can keep. Something worth taking back home. Until then, if you're looking for me, I'll be fishin'.