I just got back from fishing with my dad in Pickstown, South Dakota. We got "skunked," which means we caught no fish - not even a fish that's tiny and you throw back into the water. Well, I take that back. My dad caught one fish known as a "mooneye" carp, but apparently they taste gross, so we threw it back into the water. If we can't eat it, we discard it.
This rule also applies to your face. Jerk.
Despite the lack of fish, I still had a really good time with my dad. It's not really about the fishing anyway. It's about spending time together and talking and bonding and all that. And bonding we did. All in all, my dad and I are pretty good at communicating. Yesterday, we sort of broke down one of the last remaining barriers in communication. This is good. This makes me happy.
Paul Rust loves his father.
Last night, my dad and I got food at one of those roadside diners - you know, the kind that look like a cabin (wooden structure, screen door, etc.). Inside, I saw a couple eating dinner in a booth. The man was this really young policeman (maybe 20 at the oldest) and his girlfriend was this 16 year-old girl, wearing skimpy-Brittany clothes sitting Indian style. From what I could tell, the policeman was on a dinner break and his girlfriend joined him to keep him company. It was definately something "you don't see everyday," but I don't know... it was really touching for some reason.
My knees got sun-burnt.