Saturday, April 10, 2010

patient hands

Rudy was twenty the year his youngest brother, my husband, was born. He was married and had two little boys of his own before my husband started school. How kind he was then, as a busy young father, to include his little brother on a fishing trip. Hooks and lines and bait all needed to be attended to. A quick lesson in casting and they were all set. Out sailed the line, out and out and...... the reel choked on a huge tangled ball of line. Nary a word of reproach. Rudy patiently began untangling. Fishing line is so fine, and the knots so tight. Clouds scudded across the sky, the sun shifted, the world turned, and unbelievably, a fish bit. Down went the bobber. "A fish Rudy, a fish!" Calmly, "well, pull in the line." The snarled line was eventually uncrimped and a second cast was made. Same little boy, same rod, same huge tangled ball of line, same amazingly patient big brother. Flash forward thirty years or so. Middle age has worked its magic. It's now two men gone fishing. Hooks and lines and bait have been attended to. Rudy swings his rod forward in a graceful cast and......the rod leaves his hand and sails through the air, slicing the water and sinking like a stone. The tide of time has turned. It's my husband who reaches down. Calmly, patiently, a hook is lowered and the rod is retrieved. Oh Rudy, you were more than a big brother. You were a gift. An example. You walked ahead and a little boy followed your big steps. You have joined another kindly Fisherman with patient hands and gentle eyes.

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