Grandpa and Me Fishing

Grandpa and Me Fishing

From Chicken Soup for the Grandparent's Soul

Grandpa and Me Fishing

A little boy was asked, “Where is your home?” “Where grandpa lives,” was his reply.

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My grandfather was my father figure in every way that my real father should have been. He taught me respect, a work ethic, humor, the importance of stories, social and people skills, the meaning of a handshake, fulfilling a promise, commitment, appreciating my education, the intricacies of relationship, and probably most importantly . . . how to fish. Much of his wisdom came to me while holding a fishing rod down on the dock at his place on the lake. I was shaped in his image by his words as they floated over the water, down that pole and into my soul. I wrote this poem to sum up some of these lessons taught to me in life:

My Grandpa

The small bills go in front and the bigger ones behind.
You have to use your head boy! You got to use your mind!

And when you change that filter, run some oil ’round the lip.
Or else you’ll fry your motor in the middle of your trip.

When I went to school, I walked a mile through the snow.
I’d shoot some dinner on my way home. A pheasant or a doe.

If you wanna catch the big one, you tie your line just like this.
Tease it just a little. Don’t yank too hard or you’ll miss.

Keep your eyes on the road boy! Don’t drive too fast! Slow down!
And don’t you tell your grandma ’bout those milkshakes back in town!

Treat her like a lady, son. Do it every day of your life.
Respect her and take care of her. Mother . . . daughter . . . wife.

I miss my grandpa.

Michael W. Curry

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