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NF Peice 2 days late
Fishing and crabbing, that is what we called it. That is exactly what we did. Once, when I was about 3 or 4, we were hanging out at my grandparent’s house in New Orleans. My dad asked me if I wanted to go fishing with my grandfather and him. I really had no choice, but I was bored and I had never gone fishing before. So, we packed the fishing poles and a bucket, then we got in the car and drove to the pier. I thought about how strange the fishing poles looked long and ominous, like something out of a sci-fi movie. I wondered how they worked, while the string was pulled in like it was magnetized. The bucket was from Home Depot: large, orange, and highly durable, with a caulked up handle. Sooner than I knew it, we were at the pier.
As I said, we were going fishing, but to me, like everything else, that meant “run around aimlessly and get into trouble.” Eventually, this became boring, so I grabbed a pair of tongs and a fish from our bucket. I would use its wet tail to draw on the dry wooden planks. Since I was young, my dad and grandfather were amazed at how creative I was. So they would stop fishing, watch me, and talk about how smart I was. This even attracted the occasional passerby. Sometimes, I was allowed to hold the fishing pole and yell when there was a fish. Sometimes I had to check the crab nets. It was amazing for me; I felt like a ship captain, seeing how others were doing their jobs. Then I went back to fish painting.
At the end of the day, we pulled up the crab nets to see if we caught anything and reeled in the fishing poles. I was sad to leave, but I knew we would come back. The car ride seemed longer than going there, so I fell asleep. When we got home, we unpacked and put the fish in a cooler with ice in it to fry the fish the next day. I was ready for bed immediately after we got home. I could not help but dream about fish.
In the morning, there was cereal for breakfast. Not the bland, large, wheat cereal most old people have, but the sweet kind used for traveling. Sometimes, we had homemade food, like biscuits or pancakes. I spent my spare time reading, playing with toys, or watching TV. It was kind of boring because I knew the fried fish was so far away, but, I waited patiently. The time would come for lunch, which meant fish. I never saw how the fish was made, but it came out golden brown, sizzling and screaming. It tasted amazing and I wished we did not have to leave. We would come back another time, ready to fish.
That pier is destroyed, as well as my grandparent’s old house from Katrina. We do not go fishing anymore, but we still buy fish to fry. Even if the pier is fixed, it is still too far away. Now, we have to fish in Texas, but not with my grandparents. While this is fun, it was still not as fun as it was in New Orleans. Now, nothing can compare to the old days when we fished at the pier.
Article posted October 25, 2011 at 07:22 PM •
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