FAMILY MATTERS
Grandfather's catch not such a tall fishing tale
By Michael C. DeMattos
My grandfather has been dead now for nearly 30 years.
Though I was just about 7 when he passed away, I was old enough to know that he was not coming back.
I have many memories and a few stories about my grandfather, but some of the best tales are those that happened long before I was born. And even though I have each of those stories stored in my own memory banks, I never tire of hearing them again.
There was the time my grandfather went fishing near Makua Cave on the Wai'anae coast.
Now, there are two rules that every good angler follows to ensure a successful fishing trip. Rule 1: Keep fresh bait on the hook. This means checking the bait regularly. Rule 2: Keep your line in the water. Fish live in the sea, and that is where your line should be.
By all accounts, my grandfather was quite the fisherman who checked his lines regularly. On this particular night, the bite was slow and as dawn neared, he decided to bring up one of his many rods and pack it up later that same morning. He reeled in the line examined the bait still on the hook and then put the pole into the sand spike and headed back to the camp site for a cup of coffee.
About a half hour later, he heard a reel sing as line peeled off. He looked around and saw a pole lurching in the distance. He was halfway to the rod when he noticed something odd. The rod was bending away from the water and toward the bushes. Evidently, something took the bait on the rod he had pulled out of the water earlier that morning.
He quickly reeled in the line and to his surprise; found one very upset mongoose. It seemed that the little critter smelled the bait and took the proverbial hook.
Though I was not even a twinkle in my father's eye, I can see my grandfather reeling in the outraged mongoose in my mind's eye. Through the power of story, I am magically transported to a time and place unencumbered by such nonnecessities as life and death.
It seems to me that family stories are much like the great tales told in collected works. Though each story is filled with immutable truths, the facts seem to change depending on the storyteller and the audience. As the years pass, the details fall away to be discarded like clothes that no longer fit while the truth lies naked for all to see.
When my grandfather died nearly 30 years ago, I was old enough to know that he was never coming back, but I was too young to know that he never really left.
As I grow older, I find it my responsibility to tell my daughter the stories of my childhood, stories from a time before her own birth. Through these stories, her ancestors live on and she learns the great truths from those who have come before her.
So far so good.
I have kept my storytelling bait in the water and I check it frequently. The catch has been good, no mongoose, just one little girl who eagerly awaits the next tale about loved ones who live on in her heart.
Family therapist Michael C. DeMattos has a master's degree in social work.
