The thing I hate most about being a kid is the way everybody bosses you around. No kidding. I mean, when it comes to a group vote, mine only counts about half. Which is what happened over the holiday weekend when (in case you didn’t notice) I totally dropped off the map. Disappeared. Kidnapped, if you want to know the truth about it. See, what happened was, we ended up with way more company than usual around our house. Some neighbors of my grandparents who couldn’t fly out to see their own family because of the big storm.
So, right when I was gonna high-tail it outta there (because Mom usually likes me to stay out of her way when she’s cooking), Grandpa and Mr. Johnson decided to take a ride over to Sweeny Lake to see if the storm was pushing any of the big fish close into shore. I don’t know if that’s true (about fish coming closer to shore in storms). If you ask me, the women just wanted all the men out of the house so they could cook in peace. I mentioned I had some important patrol stuff I had to do with Buddy over at the Outpost, so they better go without me. But Mom said, no way. I was going. When was the last time I went fishing with Grandpa?
But Grandpa said I could invite Buddy, too, so I wouldn’t get bored hanging out with just him and Mr. Johnson. Only Buddy couldn’t go. On account of it was a family day, and he had to hang out with his cousins. Which is why I ended up stranded out at Sweeny Lake for two whole days in one of the wildest storms we’ve had around here in years. In case any of you are wondering why I didn’t show up to do all those special things we were planning for the holiday, over at the Outpost.
Here’s how it happened. It was only just starting to rain when we first drove off. By the time we got there (a little over an hour later), it still wasn’t too bad, only we didn’t have any luck fishing off the pier. That’s when Mr. Johnson said what would it hurt to take the boat out for a bit, just to see if they were maybe biting farther out. Grandpa said he didn’t mind, at least there was a top on the thing and we wouldn’t have to stand in the rain. He gets a little grouchy when he gets cold or uncomfortable, and I could tell he was headed in that direction. But Mr. Johnson insisted (man-- does that guy like to fish) and it was his boat. His car we had drove up in, too, so Grandpa and I had to sort of go along with it.
Anyway, that’s how it happened I spent practically my whole Thanksgiving weekend with a conked-out engine on the back side of Sweeny Lake in the first snowstorm we’ve had around this area for ten years (it started to snow on the second day). Living off peanut butter, crackers, hot chocolate, and Kipper snacks (you know what those things are? Try looking them up sometime). Oh, yeah, and fish. Lots and lots of fish. Which was pretty good actually. But they say your taste-buds change a lot when you’re starving. Meanwhile, Grandpa and Mr. Johnson worked on the engine, and we finally rolled into home on Sunday. Can you believe it?
We weren’t in danger, or anything. Grandpa and Mr. Johnson been fishing out there like that for years, and they’re always getting stranded somewhere. Usually some other fisherman comes by and tows them in. But nobody but us thought how fun it would be to go fishing in a snowstorm. Even Mom, Grandma, and Mrs. Johnson didn’t sound too worried when we called in (we had cell phones out there -- only the roads were snowed in), because all they said was they’d save us some leftovers. Sheesh. So, I guess nobody was worried about all that but me. Which is another thing I hate about being a kid.
Not understanding what adults are talking about half the time.
Way, WAY later,
W.K.
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