Catch and Release

My dad’s keychain was a fish out of water, resin scales and glass eyes and chipped paint from years of ins and outs of denim pockets, driving to soccer games, hardware stores, golf courses, but never fishing. That, he never taught me, but not for lack of knowing. He had his fishing stories. His voice flowed through the lighter parts, rippling when it spoke of loss; Grandpa passed, maybe, ten years ago now. He said I could have his tackle box but that’s not really what I want; I need

him to know he taught me everything one can learn from blackberry hued morning water and the delicacy of weighted lines without ever going fishing. I don’t know what the whirl of currents means or where to land the sinker when the water is cloudy, but I do know that this life is about respect, patience. I know that the pond isn’t half empty but half full and that no matter how hard the fight or big the fish, sometimes, it’s right to just let him go.