Featured Essay

The Power of Fishing
Johnnie Barmore
Cincinnati, OH

I believe in the power of fishing. I am not an avid angler, and I am still not sure if real flies are used in fly fishing. However when I think back on my childhood, many of my most warm and salient memories took place on a fish bank.

I remember running, playing and exploring as the adults fished, drank beer and talked trash to each other. BB.King, Albert King, Betty Wright and Millie Jackson serenaded from 8-track tape decks in deuce and a quarters and el Caminos I remember eating the days catch cooked outdoors on a Coleman stove. There was always plenty of hot sauce, and admonitions to be careful, with white bread on hand in case you got choked on an insidious fish bone.

I remember going to the pay lake with the warning if you don't catch a fish you will have to walk home. Half-believing this, I was delighted and relived when I reeled in a 3 pound, or was it a 5 pound, no definitely a 7 pound catfish. After a struggle that rivaled Captain Ahab and Moby Dick's, I finally got it to shore. I did not have the nerve to take the ugly thing of the hook, luckily that was not a condition of getting a ride home. The poor fella was tasty though.

As a young teen I was delighted when I reeled in 17 white bass from the river behind the sugar factory in Freemont. I breathlessly told the story of my conquest to anyone who would listen. It was the last time I remembered going fishing with my father. I was soon old enough to opt out, and chose more urbane pursuits then sitting on a fish bank all day.

When my sister died at 17, I remember feeling like I could not breathe. Everyone in our large family was grieving terribly. The world changed forever like our personal version of 9/11. Everything before that day meant something different, great or slight, the day after. I remember my father got up early the next day to go fishing, alone. It was his way of coping and everyone understood. I never saw him cry about my sister. I often wondered if the fish did. I have a mental picture of him pouring his heart out to a wide eyed bluegill who listened patiently before swimming away.

Now as a mental health therapist for children, I often take them fishing. They talk more openly when slightly preoccupied with the many little tasks it takes to fish. They are able to learn patience and frustration tolerance that can serve them well in school and at home. They develop courage as they tackle the daunting task of baiting their hook. However, I think the most curative factor is that on a fish bank they are not kids with problems. They are just kids, running, playing, exploring and healing.

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