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by Tony R. Rodriguez
He is such a mama’s boy. In a City where fishing is life, Christian is growing up and feeling the
need to join the rest of the men of the City. He’s curious and full of emotion. He’s finally ready to
learn how to fish. Christian lives in a City filled with talented fisherman, this according to his
father figure. Yet, the fishing that Christian wants to try, the fishing his mother recommends, is
an approach that many choose not to celebrate or even attempt anymore. Christian knows that
this idea of fishing will require great patience and great heart, but at last he’s ready to try.
He lives in Northern California, in a household where his mother and father figure stay in
separate rooms. They never go on vacations together or remember their anniversaries or
birthdays. His mother tells him that his father figure was never a romantic, never the one to do
great things to show he loved her. She says that being a romantic is the only decent love left in
the world. She lectures Christian and barks that his father figure made a huge mistake and is now
paying for it for the rest of his life. Christian knows of the mistake she’s referring to. At times he
wishes he were never born. Yet, Christian never asks why things are this way between his
mother and father figure: he merely accepts it and pretends they’re still in love. His father figure is
always quiet and keeps to himself at home. His father figure goes to the bar three times a week
and comes home mumbling about bills and ignorance in the barflies he drinks with. Christian’s
father figure never spent time shaping Christian into anything at all: he left that up to Christian’s
mother. He knows what type of man Christian will be—a mama’s boy who will never be a good
fisherman. Christian’s father figure knows what type of man he is, what type of father figure he
is, and that’s why he’s at the bar every other night. But Christian’s father figure has a special gift.
In his early days, Christian’s father figure was a noted fisherman, a man’s man of fishing. This
talent of his is what attracted Christian’s mother initially. In a City where women love a good
fisherman, Christian’s mother was reeled in immediately. He could catch any fish in any brook or
stream or river or pond or lake or ocean. If the talk was to catch the seasonal bass, Christian’s
father figure caught the largest bass. If the goal was to obtain rainbow trout, his bait worked the
best. When his father figure went out with the boys to catch marlins down in Baja California, he
would be the only one successful, later taking a picture with the huge fish to show others upon
returning home. This was the one gift Christian’s father figure had. He was great at his trade. All
noted him. Women in each town he visited looked in awe at his catches. Men took notes and
bragged about his fishing skills. Christian looked up to his father figure for this gift of his, even
though it wasn’t the type of fishing Christian wanted to do, or the type his mother told him he
should rekindle.
‘Dad, I’m ready to fish,’ says Christian to his father figure one premature afternoon. His father
figure lies in his comfort chair with red eyes; his belly is swollen with Anchor Steam pale ale. His
father figure turns down the television, adjusts his vision on Christian, shifts in his comfort chair
and smirks. The living room is dark and stagnant because all the windows are closed and the
shades are down. The sun is blaring outside and the City is alive with fever and curiosity.
Fishermen at the nearby lake are yanking out fish over a foot in length. Christian’s father figure
smiles because he knows of all the fish waiting to be caught in lakes and rivers and oceans. He
knows of how gifted he is or used to be and how significant the suggestions he can bestow upon
his only child are. He knows that the day he will pass his knowledge onto his only son is finally
here. Christian is now ready to learn how to fish. To become a man. To become a man’s man of a
fisherman. He’s ready to become a great fisherman like his father figure before him and like his
grandfather figure before him. Christian belongs to such an impressive line of talented fisherman,
women who’ve seen them fish would agree.
‘So, you want to learn how to fish? What do you know about fishing?’
Christian sits beside him on the floor of the living room and explains in great detail about all the
methods he heard from kids at his school, things he’s seen on television, lyrics from hit songs on
the radio, experiences he’s heard about from family members. The entire time Christian rambles,
his father figure smiles, a look of distinct pride. After Christian’s long-winded response, his father
figure says that he really doesn’t need to teach him anything; perhaps only suggestions of where
to fish are needed, places where the prettiest fish bite the most. His father figure tells Christian
that he needs to go down to the local lake or the nearby ocean or the rivers just an hour east and
toss his line in the water and wait. He says that Christian needs only to display his confidence in
fishing and cast out his baited line and feel the many bites soon to come.
Christian, however, saw fishing differently.
‘I don’t want to fish the way everyone else does. It sounds crazy the way people catch fish today.
Too many people fish this way. I know their way works, but I want to use different bait and
different methods. I want to buy a big shiny pole and expensive lures or use a big juicy worm that
was hand-plucked from the earth by me. I want to say a prayer before I cast out my line into the
water. I want to catch the biggest fish ever, not just any old thing. I want people to take notice of
my prize. I don’t want to use an old stick for a pole and old fishing line that was passed down
from someone else, line with a rotted hook that isn’t worthy of any big fish. Too many people fish
this way. I want to cast my line far from the shore. I want to catch a big fish and celebrate my
prized win forever, knowing that I used the best bait any fisherman could use. I want people to
take notice of my catch and become jealous at my happiness, at my decision to fish the way people
used to a long time ago.’
Christian’s father figure was upset. Why does Christian need to do the opposite of what his father
suggests? Christian doesn’t need an expensive pole or plump bait to catch a great fish. His father
figure never needed to do that. His father figure could catch a big fish anywhere and with
anything. He could cast his line near the shore or away from the shore. He could use an
expensive pole or a wooden pole. Rusted hook or new hook. Fresh bait or rotting bait. Confidence
is the only tool needed by any fisherman. Fishermen don’t need to make a huge spectacle of their
craft. They need not be romantic about their sport. They need only to take what they want. Take
when they want. Take how they want.
His father figure turns his head back to the television and knows Christian is stubborn about his
decision in the romantic/give-it-your-all-and-more fishing method. Christian’s face becomes proud
and blushes red. He becomes the poet. He sits up straight and explains more of his method for
catching the big fish. Christian’s words become more lyric and grand and romantic. Poetry
spilling from his lips. A radiant smile. A beating heart. His father figure laughs and turns up the
television. Christian doesn’t understand why his father figure is acting like this. He doesn’t
understand why his father figure doesn’t believe it could work. Christian knows that fishermen of
today don’t fish as they used to, but Christian felt that they should. The fish of the rivers and
lakes and oceans deserve the best treatment.
His father figure begins to yell, explaining why the feature big fish Christian speaks of will never
bite from the hook that bares handpicked worms or expensive lures or shiny poles. They’ll bite
and he may catch a few, but it won’t be the same big fish Christian speaks of. Christian’s father
figure tells him how this whole City is filled with nice fishermen who’ve all approached fishing
the same romantic way Christian wishes to try, how all of them eventually give up and subscribe
to using confidence as their only resource. Romancing a fish never really works. Take what you
want. Take when you want. Take how you want. Use cheap sticks for poles and rusty hooks or
broken, lifeless lures, his father figure suggests. Sure some fishermen may have caught the big fish
with the same approach Christian would like to try, but it was never the type of catch they
thought it would be. Eventually the big fish they catch swims away or breaks the line or becomes
spoiled when brought home to be celebrated. He stares Christian straight in the eyes and says
that all the classy equipment he wants to use may work initially, but the big fish will take what it
wants, leaving the fisherman with nothing but over-paid equipment and wasted time. Fish take
advantage of the rich equipment and eventually leave the fisherman broken over time if the big
fish doesn’t leave the fisherman broken to begin with.
Christian doesn’t understand. He’s flustered with confusion. He wants to be romantic. He wants
to be the gentle fisherman. Christian feels this is how fishermen should treat their catches. He feels
that smothering the fish with sweet things will make him a great fisherman. It’s a sweet idea, but
in today’s fishing world it’s not realistic. It’s not lasting. It may seem that fish would want this,
but studies show that they fall for more confident bait—for some reason the confident, bad boy
fisherman bait is more tempting.
Christian leaves his house determined, going to the nearby stores to make his expensive
purchases. He spends more money than he has. He buys a nice shovel to pluck worms from the
ground. He buys a fancy tackle box that he fills with golden lures and handcrafted weights and
impressive bobbers with camouflage designs.
Immediately, Christian heads for the nearest pond that is said to house many beautiful fish of
great size and great worth. The sun is still up and Christian smiles with self-respect. Christian
lays a blanket near the water’s edge and unfolds a handcrafted fishing chair that reclines. He sees
fishermen around the edges of the pond, fishermen laughing at the amount of effort and money
Christian has put into his fishing. He looks around and thinks these people are fools for coming
to such a pond with only a pole made from a thick tree branch. Some have old fishing poles that
look as if they were purchased at some yard sale. He thinks to himself that the fish these fishers
will catch won’t be quality fish at all. Christian fashions a strong hook onto his thick fishing
line—such line that promises not to bust when reeling in a big fish. Christian smiles at everyone
because in his heart he feels that he will catch a fish here at this pond that will be greater than any
these fishermen have ever seen. He baits his line with special eggs that promise to be ideal for
pond fishing. Staring out at the other fishermen, Christian flings his line out into the deep center
of the pond, reeling it a bit to get a nice firm line. He says a prayer and sends kisses toward the
water. He immediately feels a bite and begins spinning his reel slowly, teasing whatever fish may
have found interest in his bait. Mad tugs then come from his line. The camouflaged bobber goes
down and stays beneath the surface for a spell. Christian stares amongst the other fishermen, all
are still laughing to themselves at his approach to the art of fishing. The bobber rises up and goes
back down, Christian tugging hard on his line now with a smile. He reels the line in, yanking his
expensive pole left and right, up and down. A fisherman a few feet from him feels a tug on his line
as well. This other fisherman pulls his line in slowly and with great confidence. Christian is now
reeling with madness and joyful surprise, reciting poems toward the center of the pond. It feels
like he’s already caught the big one, the worthy fish with bright colors and notable girth. How
proud his father figure will be. How amazed and jealous the nearby fishermen will become. But
Christian will be humble about his catch. He will not brag or point his fingers or shout I told you
so. He calms down and takes deep breaths. The fisherman near him pulls hard now on his line,
reeling in the fish he caught with confidence. The fisherman pulls the fish above the water.
Everyone around the pond sees that it’s a great carp, beautiful in color and mass. All the
fishermen except for Christian applaud and salute his notable catch.
Then it’s Christian’s turn. Christian pulls his fish above water and sees that it’s not a big fish, but
a mere scavenger with a fierce jaw that won’t let go of the line. The size of this scavenger is
notable, but it’s not the big fish Christian was hoping for. The fishermen around the pond keep
composure and go about their business. Christian unhooks the scavenger, re-baits his line,
polishes his pole, says a loud prayer and tosses the line back toward the center of the pond, where
he later catches the same type of fish. Another scavenger. Another loss of an expensive lure. It
happens again. Over and over. He tries different bait. Different spots in the pond. Different
prayers. Nothing works. He continuously catches the same type of scavenger. Others around him
pluck big carp and sunfish every now and then, keeping their joy to themselves. Christian waits
patiently hour upon hour, still catching nothing but greedy scavengers. Finally, Christian leaves
and says nothing to the fishermen who were successful. The sun is going down and Christian
feels that night fishing may be a better sport than day fishing.
He ventures toward a nearby lake that has been lucrative. Even his father figure suggested this
spot for quality fishing. In fact, his father figure bragged that he once caught a perch so grand
that he got his picture in a magazine: he holding the great perch by the jaw. Here Christian will
make his father figure proud. This lake will prove to be his spot where he will show the fishermen
of the City that he has what it takes, in spite of the un-orthodox, out-dated methods he’s using.
It’s dark, but getting darker now. Christian prepares his equipment with pride. He lays his tackle
box down on a fine blanket with pictures of great fish from rivers and streams and lakes and
oceans woven into it. He polishes his pole with a fine cloth, brushing away a bit of dirt from the
pond he just visited. Christian turns on a kerosene lamp that burns brighter than any other of
the lamps owned by the other fishermen near him. With his expensive shovel he digs near the
water’s edge for plump worms that know the darkness is here. He finds a dozen or so plump
ones. He bathes the worm in a dipping solution that guarantees it will attract any prized fish in
any pond or lake or river or stream.
A nearby fisherman says to him, ‘Good luck. You’ll need it sport.’
Christian pays no mind and flings his line deep into the lake where he waits and waits. Hours go
by and Christian doesn’t feel a single bite. A few fishermen near him with old poles and
unworthy lures and bait smile because they’ve already caught a few. They know that they’re
good at their craft. They know that it’s really not about the equipment one uses when fishing.
The fishermen know that it’s all about patience and confidence.
Another hour goes by and Christian says to himself, ‘I’ll try again tomorrow. I’ll visit the ocean
and go out on a pier and catch me a wild one. I’ll catch a gorgeous fish from the untamed waters
of the ocean. I’ll bring the fish back and be content because I know that I did something others
said couldn’t be done. My father figure says it won’t be lasting, but I say it will. I’ll make this
catch romantic and it will work.’
Christian leaves and goes home and doesn’t say a word to his father figure or his mother. They’re
both in their separate rooms and going about their own business. Besides, Christian doesn’t need
any pep talks. He’s a man now, or so he believes.
The next day the sun is again blaring, illuminating brilliant colors along the coastline of northern
California. There are palm trees swaying their thick trunks, each topped off with long green
leaves. Christian makes his way along the pier, passing fishermen with expensive poles similar to
his, and Christian shakes his head at others with poles not so impressive. Among the fishermen
he passes, he senses that some lack confidence and some have too much. He wonders if he has
confidence with his fishing skills or if he is only being stubborn.
Making his way toward the end of the pier, Christian says his hellos to the fishermen near him.
They look at him and turn away. The wind picks up and begins blowing fierce slogans to the
fishermen of the pier. Some become intimidated and leave their positions, retreating elsewhere and
fishing another day. But Christian holds true to his mission. He zips up his coat and baits his line
with plump slivers of anchovies marinated in potent juices that will attract any fish. He says a
prayer before he flings his line out, whispering to himself positive words, gently rubbing his
fishing pole with the sleeve of his coat. And then he waits patiently for a bite from a fish that will
prove that he is a good fisherman. A true romantic of a fisherman.
For an hour he waits until he receives his first bite. With pride he reels the beast up from the wild
ocean. His pole bends as he yanks hard on the line and reels with madness. His face turns red
with excitement. His heart beats. Christian shouts toward nearby fishermen who see the power
the fish has. He looks down from the pier and sees that he’s caught a great big one, it flapping
viciously as it comes above the surface. The nearby fishermen who’ve also weathered the wind see
his catch and become impressed. People are shouting and pointing at Christian’s catch. He reels
the big fish higher and higher, still looking down at his catch. This fish will be lasting. Christian
will show his father figure and others who’ve doubted him that his method of fishing works.
Romance the fish. Treat them well. Take care of them. Make them feel special. Don’t merely pluck
them and use them for what you can. This will be the big fish Christian has always wanted. This
will be a lasting moment for him that he will celebrate, his future family will celebrate.
Snap! The line breaks and the big fish plummets back down into the cold waters of the ocean. The
fishermen who cheered him on shake their heads and pat him on the back and tell him that it
happens. But Christian doesn’t give up. He’s gained a little bit of respect as a fisherman. This
ocean has just shown him the exact fish he’s always wanted. Christian fixes his busted line. He
attaches an expensive weight. He re-baits his line with the finest lure he could buy for ocean
fishing. Christian says another prayer and again rubs down his pole with his sleeve. He flings the
line out farther into the ocean and waits patiently. He recites a poem toward his line. Time goes
on. He sits and becomes cold by the ever-growing wind, growing impatient and bitter. Christian
waits for an hour and receives only a few bites that promise nothing. So he reels in his line and
changes his bait to fresh fish sold by a little boy who walks the pier with a bucket of live
anchovies. The sun begins retreating and the wind continues to pick up, biting his ears and neck
and cheeks with a gloom. The fresh fish isn’t working. Christian becomes even more flustered.
Christian pulls up his line and changes the bait again. He decides to go back to lures, using a
small lure with gold hooks that glow bright under water. Again he casts his line deep into the
distance and waits patiently. A few bites come about, but nothing that promises a fish has been
caught—only more nibbles. Another hour Christian waits, periodically reeling in his line and
casting it back out into the frigid waters. The wind persists and bites Christian with little mercy.
Christian has no luck. Madness sets in.
And then Christian will continue every other day for weeks, visiting different streams and brooks, still not catch
anything he feels worthy. He’ll manage to hook small fish. He’ll manage to hook large scavengers, each mud-
sucker greedily feeding from Christian’s choice bait. He’ll manage big fish that’ll break his lines and sour his
heart. He’ll pray and romance his bait with poems and prayers before he launches his line in the water. He’ll
use the most expensive fishing gear manufactured, always buying whatever new product is on the market.
Christian will never catch anything worthy. No big fish. No prized fish to brag about while other fishermen
around him reel in fish he feels deserve to be caught only by him.
And then Christian will go fishing once a week for months and still produce the paltry sum—nothing worthy.
Christian will venture out to different ponds and rivers and continue to catch only scavengers and plump fish
that’ll rip their mouths free from the lines he fills with choice bait. He’ll be left with nothing. No fish will be
lasting. Each he reels in will be merely average or below. Christian will slowly lose hope and pray and romance
his bait less.
And then Christian will grow old, slowly feeling age getting to him through sporadic white hairs and wrinkles
forming all around his face. Christian’s mother will tell him for many years not to give up, that his fishing
method will work. She’ll say that he’ll one day catch the big fish and be content with fishing altogether. His
mother’s advice will finally begin to disturb him. He’ll tear his heart into pieces. Christian will eventually grow
to understand that he should conform and be like those other fishermen, those like his father figure before him.
Christian will become older and older and realize that confidence is truly the best bait one needs in order to catch
the big fish.
About the author:
Tony Richard Rodriguez was born in Fremont, California on August 22, 1977. With a degree in Liberal Studies, he
graduated from San Francisco State University in 2002. He is currently a middle school teacher -- Literature and
English being his favorite subjects of instruction. When Tony is not getting kicked out of school, driving cross-
country, making soap, writing about a special girl, playing in Pamplona, Spain, sun-tanning in San Juan, or trying to
figure out what to do with this One Ring, Tony frequents karaoke dives, the ATM machine, sleeping-in, and fast
food restaurants. Imaginatively, he still lives in San Francisco, California. The Disappearance and the Slow
Awakening is the title of his first novel.
Author website:
http://writers.fultus.com/rodriguez/
