Before you jump to conclusions – no, I’m not at work this weekend because I overslept after staying up too late obsessively binge-watching our teenage daughter’s fangirl show “Supernatural.”
Even if TV kept me from showing up for my usual weekend radio newscasting gig in Washington, D.C., I would have to blame a different show. Our daughter has forbidden me from “Supernatural” for the time being because (a) she doesn’t want me to catch up with where she is in the series and (b) she says my enthusiasm has “sort of ruined” the show for her.
I feel bad about that.
But not THAT bad.
After all, it’s my duty as a dad to ruin things for my kids.
So why do I have the weekend off?
Well, if I can’t fangirl, I might as well pursue a more age-appropriate activity.
I’m off to West Virginia’s interior, meeting up with a few friends at my brother’s place in Canaan Valley.
We’re going fishing.
Trout fishing, to be specific.
The idea of fishing appeals to me. Casting a line into a mountain stream and waiting for the rush of a fish that takes the bait seems like the perfect way to spend a weekend away from the office cubicle.
And for this trip, I’m looking forward to breaking in the new pole I got for free. I chose it from a list my employer offered as a gift when I reached ten years on the job.
My co-workers chuckled when it arrived, finding it amusing that I’d choose a fishing pole as an anniversary gift rather than a watch or a pair of cufflinks that I’ll never wear.
At the time, however, I ignored them. I figured a fishing pole would more useful.
I might be wrong about that, though. In my experience, the idea of fishing and the reality of it don’t square.
The truth is, I’m a terrible fisherman. As much as I hate to admit this, I can probably count the number of fish I’ve actually caught on one hand.
In fact, I probably spend more time putting a fouled spool of line back into working order than actually casting. And if by some miracle I’m able to get a line into the water, it seems more likely to get snagged on a rock than to hook a fish, leaving me with no recourse but to lose even more precious fishing time trying to work my line free without snapping it.
It’s a wonder I haven’t somehow hooked the back of my head … yet.
There’s still time for that, though.
They say “a bad day fishing is better than a good day working.”
With my track record, it seems I’m putting that old adage to the test this weekend.
But no matter how our trip turns out, at least I’ll have a good fish story to tell when I get back to the office.