Out With the Kids

My good friend, Bob Long, Jr., is “The Fishin’ Guy!” with the Chicago Park District. He is the Coordinator of Mayor Daley’s Fish`N Kids Program. Each year they get over 12,000 kids fishing, most of those during the summer months. He brags that 90% of the kids that participate in the program catch at least one fish.

His long time involvement with getting kids fishing, dating back to 1991, got him into the Illinois Outdoor Hall of Fame this year. The induction ceremony will be held the end of March.

For a few years I was lucky to go work for him as his assistant. I spent 4 or 5 years, six months out of the year, pretty much wandering around Chicago teaching kids to fish. Easily over a thousand a year.

Summer days would start out down at Burnham or Montrose Harbor. We would get kids catching rock bass and bluegills, the occasional crappie and when the bite died, drop the bait on the bottom of the lake and go goby fishing. The afternoons might be spent at one of the lagoons. Gompers on the north, Washington or Jackson on the south or Humboldt and Douglas on the west side. Bluegills, catfish, crappie and the occasional largemouth bass would all be caught.

I have surprisingly few pictures and virtually nothing written down about this. Bob is an exceptional photographer, so I have a collection of a few hundred of his images. Rattling around in my brain are all kinds of vivid memories of fishing with the kids. Quite a few of them would be easy to put into writing. I did find one paragraph I had written. I was describing why I have no interest in going after big fish, the trophies and hawgs. It’s something I learned from the kids.

One of the things that happens while out fishing with kids is that every fish caught elicits squeals of delight. Every fish is HUGE and the biggest fish they ever caught. I never understood this till I was handing a potato chip bluegill to a 6 year old one day and the fish filled her little hand. At that point the fish was huge, it filled her hand. “It’s so big,” she said. And for that moment, it was.

Also out there wandering Chicago are a few thousand kids, now probably in their early 20’s, wondering if that guy that showed them how to fish really was named Mr. Please. But that’s a different story.

I started thinking about how to write this post and I wound up thinking about my 2 daughters. The oldest is my angler. She took to fishing like breathing air. She’s a natural with a rod in hand, spinning or fly. I’ve also got her interested in hunting, but her time is limited while off at college.

My youngest loves being outdoors, but fishing is something she’d just as soon avoid. I have some photo’s of her holding fish she caught, but I remember these fish coming at a price. Usually a hotdog, fries and a shake from Portillo’s. I have no problem bribing kids to get them to do what I want.

I may have had an influence in getting a few thousand kids interested in fishing, but the two that matter the most to me are mine.

So I started going through some photos and thinking about words to write. The story in my head kept getting longer as I found another photo that triggered more memories. I gave up trying to figure out the words. I would be writing for days and editing endlessly. I skimmed through a few hundred photos, quickly grabbing ones where I have distinct memories. That will have to do.

So, past this paragraph are pictures, no words. My trip down memory lane. Winter months will do that to you, make you sit and think and dwell and, from a mental health standpoint, it’s best to get some of that out. If you have no interest in seeing pictures of my kids, then find a link to click on to get the heck out of here.

As for me, I’ll be wearing out my track ball as I go over them again and again.

I love you girls. I miss not seeing you every single day. You’re in my thoughts and in my heart at all times. Now go have fun, but behave.