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Throw the Little Ones Back
Tommy, Jonah, and I were fishing in some creek up by the New York/Vermont border. I was the annoying little sister, about five years old. The one who tagged along and, honestly, wasn’t very good at much other than reading and making a spectacle of myself.
The adults with us taught me how to cast the line and showed me how to wait for the fish to tug on the line. *little tug*little tug*nothing* probably meant it was gone, but if the line started pulling and the pole bowing, REEL IT IN! It can be dinner.
The boys ran off to do whatever trouble they were getting into. I stayed. Patiently awaiting that *little tug*PULL*.
They were older and boys and had gone on early morning hunts for earthworms before, had gone for break-of-dawn fishing trips with the men-folk that I wasn’t allowed to join. They were better at this, they already knew what they were doing.
But I caught three fish that day. One was too small, “We throw the little ones back to grow bigger,” my uncle told me. And even so young, the metaphor made me uncomfortable. *I* was little...
We brought them home, my two fish the only ones in the bucket. Tommy and Jonah took it, running, to our grandmother, “Grandma! Grandma look what we caught!” Stealing my praise, my accomplishment.
When they were corrected I didn’t receive the same praise. Girls are supposed to cook, clean, and take care of the men I was told. I felt like the little fish I had worried about, hook hole in its mouth that we had thrown back.
Hopefully I’d grow into praise. You know what, I didn’t even like to eat fish back then, still don’t. Throw the little ones back, the little fish, and the little hurts.
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This creative non-fiction is for Topic 2, Throw Back the Little Ones, for The Real LJ Idol. http://therealljidol.livejournal.com/ http://therealljidol.livejournal.com/614821.html
Tommy, Jonah, and I were fishing in some creek up by the New York/Vermont border. I was the annoying little sister, about five years old. The one who tagged along and, honestly, wasn’t very good at much other than reading and making a spectacle of myself.
The adults with us taught me how to cast the line and showed me how to wait for the fish to tug on the line. *little tug*little tug*nothing* probably meant it was gone, but if the line started pulling and the pole bowing, REEL IT IN! It can be dinner.
The boys ran off to do whatever trouble they were getting into. I stayed. Patiently awaiting that *little tug*PULL*.
They were older and boys and had gone on early morning hunts for earthworms before, had gone for break-of-dawn fishing trips with the men-folk that I wasn’t allowed to join. They were better at this, they already knew what they were doing.
But I caught three fish that day. One was too small, “We throw the little ones back to grow bigger,” my uncle told me. And even so young, the metaphor made me uncomfortable. *I* was little...
We brought them home, my two fish the only ones in the bucket. Tommy and Jonah took it, running, to our grandmother, “Grandma! Grandma look what we caught!” Stealing my praise, my accomplishment.
When they were corrected I didn’t receive the same praise. Girls are supposed to cook, clean, and take care of the men I was told. I felt like the little fish I had worried about, hook hole in its mouth that we had thrown back.
Hopefully I’d grow into praise. You know what, I didn’t even like to eat fish back then, still don’t. Throw the little ones back, the little fish, and the little hurts.
------
This creative non-fiction is for Topic 2, Throw Back the Little Ones, for The Real LJ Idol. http://therealljidol.livejournal.com/ http://therealljidol.livejournal.com/614821.html
