“Hero.” Fishing and life have allowed me to meet several people who genuinely fill this role, but people use this word way too much these days, in my opinion. The signs, the hashtags, whatever. I get it; we all want to honor people. However, I think few understand the meaning of this word.
Now, let’s get something straight: my father is the person I consider my hero above every other person. This man taught me so much, from how to fish to how to be a salesman and a professional in my career choice. In fact, until recently, my career was based on him.
No other living person has impacted me as much as my father, and I am eternally grateful for that. Daddy is my best friend, and for my entire life until my son was born, he was the person I wanted to fish with most—and still do.
I was fortunate as well. For 25 years, we worked together every day. We fought like cats and dogs for many days, but we worked well together in the end. Since I have switched careers, he’s also been one of my biggest cheerleaders, which is a relief. Honestly, I was afraid my leaving our industry would disappoint him.
Being of my generation and time from the South, I refer to my father as “Daddy.” My generation or older did, especially where I am from. My daddy refers to his father as “Daddy,” and my mother does, too. We might say “Father” in polite conversation or a general reference, but if we tell stories or speak about them in particular, you will hear men like me say, “My daddy.”
There’s no more endearing term to me than that. I love it when my kids call me “Daddy.” It means so much more than “Dad.” It means I have done something right, and they are happy or appreciative. It means they love me. That’s how I see it.
However, my dad is the man who took me to catch my first fish. I don’t remember it, but there’s a picture of me, less than two years old, with a bream I caught on Lake Sinclair up around Crooked Creek way back in the middle 1970s.
He was the one who took me fishing all the time. Almost every time he went, I went. When I was 6, my daddy took me to my favorite place on this Earth – St. Mark’s, Florida – for the first time. We’ve been going there a long time now. In fact, at dinner down there, I told my daddy I was getting married. We had a long talk about life and expectations after that. He was the best man at my wedding.
Most of my columns involve my friends and family in some way, shape, or form. We hunt, we fish, we cook. Most of us do that with our fathers; my father taught me how to cook. We have fried more fish together than most Capt. D’s restaurants; we’ve cooked more pork loins than I can count, and we’ve cooked so many steaks it would take a herd of Black Angus cows to replace them.
My dad has always been a generous host, and at this point in my life, I know he loves my wife as his daughter, and my children love their “Baba.”
When my oldest was born, my dad looked at me and said without hesitation that if he had known how good being a grandfather would be, he would have had Emma first!
I appreciate you reading this because after all the changes and all the uproar in my life as of late … I just wanted to thank the man who pushed me and took me fishing. After all, he was the one who made me write this column.
Tight lines, you all.
(Hug your daddy if you can.)