It was a fishing trip that took a long time to become reality….57 years to be exact!
Hunting and fishing in the glorious outdoors can be the context of a lot of things…exercise, adventure, the thrill or victory, the agony of defeat—but perhaps one of the most important elements is family relationships.
I experienced that first hand.
Years ago on the west coast of Virginia three little boys were born in stair step fashion to a young couple. The wife and mother was a gentle and loving lady, appreciated and valued by those who knew her. The husband and father, on the other hand, was known for his restless ways and heavy drinking more than anything else. And like most alcoholics his frustrations were taken out on those closest to him.
It was while the third of the boys was still in the womb that the mother was discovered with cancer. In today’s world, with abortion on demand, it is probable that the baby being carried would have been sacrificed. After all, pregnancy is tough enough by itself…but add cancer, and…! But carry the baby she did. But the trials weren’t over with a birth, because life took up where it had left off. Drinking. Bad scenes, Short tempers. And a weakened wife and mother. It would be eleven months after the birth that she couldn’t keep going any more…a dying became easier than living. That left a father with three things he hadn’t necessarily wanted, and definitely hadn’t planned for. And life went from bad…to worse.
Over the ensuing months the boys were handed from hand to hand and place-to-place…with no place called home. Finally separated, the boys went to new homes—the older two to one home, and the youngest to another following handoff after handoff. And from that moment on the boys didn’t know each other existed, having been young enough to have only vague recollections about their beginnings.
Sixteen years would pass until the story surfaced. All three had become young adults, with the youngest preparing to graduate from high school and the older two already in college. As the truth bubbled to the surface, three boys found themselves staring each other searching desperately for words, yet not knowing what to say.
I remember it well because I was the youngest boy.
Eighteen, nineteen and twenty…and nothing to say. That was the first meeting. And having been raised as an only child I had watched MY THREE SONS and EIGHT IS ENOUGH wishing that I had some brothers and/or sisters. And now, here they were.
Though we got to be in each other’s weddings, the bond that only seems to come when you grow up with each other just didn’t happen. While we kept in touch, life got in the way. College. Families. Careers. Living in different places across the nation.
But just recently we made it happen. With a lot of planning, plenty of delays, some cancelations and a strong dose of tenacity we accomplished our first vacation ever-together-as brothers. And it only took 57 years! With the help of a friend’s wonderful boat, we spent two days off of the east coast of Florida having our lives mesh together amidst salty sea air, the stench of bait, the rocking of the boat and the threat of rolling storms. We laughed. Told stories. Caught up on each other’s journey, victories and defeats, dreams and disappointments, and hopes and plans for the future. And in the midst of it, we managed to catch snapper, bonita, grunt fish, king and topped it off with a swordfish!
And despite the missed years, long delays and dearth of shared experiences, our lives merged into a bond of brothers. Because, there may be few better places to forge relationships than hunting and fishing in the incredible God-crafted outdoors.
Defenses come down, efforts are shared, laughs are plentiful, skills and patience are learned and honed, and victories are shared. Now that forges powerful relationships! I will long remember the days in which separated brothers were forged into a family!
And by the way, don’t wait 57 years to share such times with your kids or grandkids….regardless of their ages, or yours, It’s a legacy you don’t want to miss passing on!