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Of fishing line and bogs and owning problems (or not)

Two things happened today that could have been bummers, but weren't: one in the morning, and the other in the afternoon. In both cases, as a parent, I could've thrown a fit. One of the things was way easier to deal with than the other though, and because of that, I got to learn something about myself, and that was also kinda nice in addition to getting to have a pretty cool day.

In the morning, we got to fish for a bit. The nine year old got the second fishing rod out of the car, and started making his way around the lake. The fish were biting, the dogs were staying generally out of the way, and things were fun. Then, the nine year old wound up with a twisted up, near to knotting line. 

My heart rate went up, adrenaline started to pump, I really did not want to mess with the knots. I breathed deeply, I kept my mouth shut, and soon the situation was reolved, and we were both catching fish. In the end, I'd tamped down my reaction, bit my tongue, survived, and we'd wound up having a blast!

In the afternoon, the nine year old and seven year old turned up, grinning sheepishly, covered to varying degrees—mid-thigh for the nine year old, ankle deep for the seven year old—in slimy, silty mud. They'd been running through the forest—I truly envy how they do that; they're sure footed in ways I've never been—but didn't realize there were bogs sprinkled throughout the forest around the nearby spring. They careened out of tree cover and into a bog before they knew what was happening, and that was that: covered in mud.

I giggled. I told the two of them to just go rinse off the mud in the stream—making sure there shoes were secure enough not to come off in stream’s brisk rain-swollen current of course—then head back and put on clean clothes, leaving their wet clothes to dry overnight on a tree branch. They toodled back to the stream after which I was treated to ten minutes of giggles and screams of delight as they got to dip into the stream, getting to experience how cold it was and how fast the water was moving, and the whole thing was sanctioned by an adult: me.

Why the difference in my feelings on the two different occasions? For the twisted fishing line, I felt like I was obligated to deal with it. Afterall, I'm a dad right? That's what dads are supposed to do right? They're supposed to enable kids to fish.

For the bog mud, I had no such preconceptions. The kids'd gotten themselves muddy. They'd had a great time doing it. They got themselves clean. They had a great time doing that as well. I was only very peripherally involved. It wasn't my problem.

Frankly, the fishing thing wasn't my problem either. How did I get so good at untwisting tangles? Practice as a kid time after time after time. So next time? I'll help with the line, but also, maybe I won't, or at least it won't be the number one priority of my day.

I'm hoping reflecting on all this will make for fishing trips that are as calm as mud baths.


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