Suburban Goddess

Shortly after we arrived in New Orleans, Alex found a present from my mother. It was a brand-new, bubble-gum-pink Barbie fishing pole. Immediately, the request began.

“Mommy, we go fishin’ now? I want to go fishin’. I want to go fishin’. I go fishin’ with my daddy, can we go fishin’ now? Mommy, you take me fishin’?”

Part of me wondered what the hell Chip did to get her this excited about fishing… did he dip the fishing pole in crack? Because the only other thing I’ve ever seen this kid get this excited about is a bag full of candy and a Dora video. But unfortunately, it was only Thursday and we weren’t going to be in any position to go fishing until Sunday. So all weekend, all I heard was:

“Mommy, we go fishin’?”

“Mommy, I want to go fishin’ now.”

“Mommy, when we goin’ fishin’?”

“I WANT TO GO FISHIN’!!!!”

Finally, Sunday arrived and we headed over to a family friend’s home who had a pond stocked with well-fed catfish, perch and bass. Alex immediately suckered my cousin and father to take her down to the water. After some debate, the bait of choice was a Ball Park hot dog.

Skeptical? So was I… but apparently catfish aren’t picky eaters. Either that, or they have the taste buds of a three-year-old. My cousin swore that it would work, and lo and behold, not even a full minute after he helped Alex cast out her line, the small pink bobber disappeared beneath the dark water. Alex reeled in the line excitedly but the fish got away, sliding off the hook before she could catch it.

My cousin placed another chunk of hot dog on the hook, and together they cast out the line again. Again, almost immediately the small pink bobber disappeared, but this time the fish apparently bit off a little more because as he struck the bait and began to swim away, he yanked the pole completely out of Alex’s little hands. We all looked on in amusement until Alex started to cry… my cousin reacted quickly and reached under the water, grabbing the pole before the fish dragged it into the murky depths. My cousin tried to console my upset daughter, who was now distraught that water was pouring out of the pink housing of the reel. He put another piece of hot dog on the hook and helped her cast once again, this time holding his hands over her tiny ones while assuring her that they would “catch that doggone fish” that stole her pole.

Hell hath no fury like a three-year-old pissed off at a mean fishy.

The bobber disappeared again, sinking deep under the water, and they began to reel in the line. Now, keep in mind that this is a child’s fishing pole and these fish are fed heartily. The rod started to bow as they fought to pull this fish in; my cousin held tight, teaching Alex how to release the line and allow the fish to wear itself out. On the bank, a small group had formed, everyone cheering Alex on as she fought the fish for almost five minutes. She giggled excitedly as we continued to encourage her. Eventually, the fish began to wear out. As they pulled in closer to the bank, it put up a last valiant effort, rolling above the water and thrashing uncontrollably for his survival.

About that time, Alex realized exactly what she’d been fighting. The catfish must have been at least five pounds…. and approximately half the length of my daughter. Alex shrieked, jumped back in fear, and dropped the pole.

“I DON’T WANNA GO FISHIN’ NO MORE!”

And that was the end of that. She would have nothing more to do with fishing for the rest of the day, giving the pond and its’ freakishly large prehistoric inhabitants a wide berth.

When we loaded up the car to go home, Alex sat contented next to me. I planted a kiss on her cheek and asked her if she had a good time. She nodded solemnly, then tilted her head slightly.

“Mommy, we go fishin’ again tomorrow?”

This entry was posted on May 8, 2008 at 8:23 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.