My father always led us in silent prayer before we dropped our lines into the water.
“Remember, boys, you musn’t pray for God to help you catch fish,” he’d admonish, “for that is a misuse of Holy Supplication akin to praying for wealth or vainglory. Besides, the fish will laugh at you.”
Once I asked him what we should pray for. He only smiled, the green of his eyes matching the rushing freshet below us.
He touched my shoulder, turned and made his way down the rocks.
I guess to him an answer was unnecessary.
I never did find out.
What is obvious to some is ever a puzzle to others, that’s for sure.
Perhaps his prayer was, ‘Lord, give us patience after 6 hours with no catch.” 😀
Marvellous voice. And I think Dad prayed for his boys to have everything he wished for them. The strongest emotions can often remain unspoken.
I really like the tenderness of the story, the way your style shows the differences between the father and the narrator, the openness of the ending, the implication that the boy (everyone) has to learn about life, fishing (and praying) on his own.
A very sweet story. There are many things you can learn from fishing. Somethings we are meant to discover for ourselves. Nicely done.
A lovely story. Some things just have to be figured out for yourself.
Lovely vision of boyhood – and perhaps Father was praying nobody slipped on those smooth rocks.
The boy never got an answer, and neither will we. You did a great job of voicing each character. I loved the dad’s green eyes reflecting the green of the river.
There’s a father who knows what’s what and will bring his children up well, nice tale
Perhaps a thank you instead of a please. Father knows best.