Kiss my bass

I like to do things my own way.  I suppose it comes naturally, for my mother often lamented about how stubborn I was once I learned to speak.  I had a temper, too, and combined with pigheadedness, it made for a volatile concoction.  Still, having been a strong-willed child served me well when I taught preschool children and habitually heard the mantra, “NO!  I do it myself!”  Understanding that independence is a trait to be encouraged with small children, I stood back and watched while they struggled with tying their shoes or zipping their coats. Eventually, they mastered those seemingly simple tasks and learned that small successes meant a lot, especially when perseverance was part of the process.

Even now, I still like to go my own way.  As an adult, I don’t ignore advice from trusted friends; I simply filter their subjective counsel and apply what works.  Over the years of giving requested guidance myself, I know that I can talk until I’ve exhausted every avenue of advice, but in the end, people are going to do exactly what they want.  Still, I respect that, for no matter what anyone else says, in the end I’m going to do what I feel is best for me, too.

Take learning to fish, for example.  My significant other has been an avid fisherman for decades, but I hadn’t a clue how to cast a line, let alone reel one in until we started dating.  A couple of years ago, Steve took me to a local park where he hooked a bluegill, then handed me the pole saying, “You bring it in, Kate.”  He gave me pointers about how to avoid the reeds so I wouldn’t break the line and how to give the fish a little slack when it struggled so I wouldn’t lose it.  It was fun, but not as entertaining as watching me…or so Steve said on the way home.

In the summer of 2017, we spent a week at Posey Lake which is filled with all kinds of fish --  bluegills and walleye, trout and crappie, but mostly bass.  Smallmouth, largemouth, white, striped, and spotted, bass is plentiful if you know where to look…and Steve intuitively knew exactly where to find them.  Every morning he took the boat out before sunrise and returned mid-morning with a bucket filled with fish.  One afternoon while relaxing on the dock, I noticed burbling in the water.

“Look, honey,” I pointed.  “Is that a school of fish?”

Steve squinted in the sunlight.  “It’s bass…that’s for sure.”  Then he showed me how to cast my line using a floppy rubber worm.  “Come get in the boat and practice casting overhead, Kate,” he told me.  “Aim for the bubbles.”

After Steve headed for the house, I switched tactics and cast the line off to the side, finding I had much better control, landing the worm exactly where I had aimed.  Cast after cast after cast, I hit the mark dead on, but alas…didn’t hook a fish.  Fifteen minutes later I was still practicing, but boredom slowly crept in.  Steve sat in the distance, talking on the phone while I scanned the nearby water in search of movement.  Suddenly I saw a ripple in the distance and cast my line, not how Steve had taught me, but how I had figured it out for myself.  Sure enough, a fish tugged on the worm and I hooked him.

“Steve!” I shouted.  “STEVE!  I got one!”  Reeling it in as best as I could, it was difficult to keep the line tight with the bass thrashing and fighting the hook.

Moments later, Steve jumped in the boat, shouting, “Point the tip up so you don’t break the pole.”

“Hurry…get the net!” I shouted back, elated to have finally caught one all by myself. 

Steve took a picture of me with my first catch.  “That’s a respectable bass.  Good job, Kate.”

Alas…the victory was short lived.  After casting out a while longer, I soon lost interest.  “Catch one and I’m done,” I laughed, handing him the pole so I could go hiking.

As you can see, I’m not what you’d call an avid fisherwoman.

When I turned fifty time became more precious.  A lot of women have told me that there’s a freedom in aging because we no longer feel we have to answer to everybody else, that our life becomes more about what we want to create for ourselves.  Lately, growing older has shown me the value in doing things my own way all of these years.  Sure, I’ve made mistakes and I’ve suffered the consequences of stubbornly sticking to my guns.  But in the end, I wouldn’t change a thing.

It’s rewarding to know that all of the difficult choices I’ve made have given me the confidence to keep growing…and catch a fish or two along the way.