I saw an old man fishing at the park.
June 17, 2008
I saw an old man fishing at the park.
It is June here and everything is green, perhaps more green than usual. After a long, cold and snow-filled winter the nitrogen rich soil is proving beneficial for plant-life. As I sit on a newly installed park bench I recline and stare at a murky, muddy creek that is a little bit higher than normal.
There is an oak tree that is just large enough to provide me with adequate shade. It’s cool, lower seventy degrees and it’s a perfect day. Clouds thrown randomly through out the sky and resembles a an art project where a child glues white cotten onto a blue piece of construction paper.
There is an old man who is about twenty or so yards away. He sits on a blue camping chair holding an antique fishing pole in his hands. As he stares at his bobber he tugs the pole ever so gently to try to entice something to bite. He has a pair of those giant sunglasses on, the large plastic ones that you never see someone under 50 wear. His white tee-shirt and worn in jeans are nothing special. I would imagine he is retired, most likely from a blue collar job where he put in 30 or so years.
His wife sits about twenty yards away on park bench that resembles mine. She has the same sun glasses but is a little bit more eccentric in her dress. She has a black pants and a shirt with a over sized butterfly on it. Most likely she choose the shirt for this particular occasion. Tuesday could be the day they go to the park. He fishes, she sits and watches. “Any bites yet,” She yells. He simply shakes his heads no, tugs on his line and reals in some slack.
The park is a good place to ponder. A seemingly natural oasis from the mundane lives we seem to find ourselves in. As the cool breeze comes in off of the creek it blows in a slight hint of flish and plant life. The smell is nostalgic to me. Growing up I would spend summers here; fishing, baseball, canoeing this was my my oasis from my house, from school, from my family, they all just seemed to float away.
It has been less than a week since i’ve been home and I have mixed-feelings about being here. I do like spending time with the family, however there is an underlying feeling in my soul that tells me that this is no longer my home.
In about a month and a half I will be heading back to California where I will be spending two weeks in Las Angeles training for my new job followed by 10-months of touring the country speaking in schools and churches. I am not really sure why I took this job, I mean don’t get me wrong I love speaking to students and folks but I guess when it comes to the big picture I am not sure how this will fit.
It’s scary you know when you get to the point where you begin to realize that you will be old someday. That someday I will be sitting in a blue chair staring at a bobber. Granted hopefully my wife won’t be wearinf a fanny pack of any kind, but to think of your self as being that old is a foreign thought to say the least.
I wonder if you asked the old man fishing if he had any regrets or is he happy being old, what might he say. I guess he might say something about family or his nice home or the trip that he is planning for his upcoming 50th wedding anniversary.
When I think about what I want my life to look like I presume that I want a life of a vagabond, free of any emotional or financial ties. A life where I can take off at a moments notice, where I can hike the Appellation trial or live in London for a year — but then I see a father yelling at his sun for leaning to far over the bridge and I think to myself that someday I want to yell at my son someday about leaning to far over the bridge. That I want to sit next to my fat wife when I am 70 and stare at stationary red and white bobber in a dirty, muddy creek.
Where is this happy medium between living a life of spending my Tuesday nights at the park with the family, and living a life of reckless abandoned? Can my life be living in Africa for a year and fishing at the park in a blue camping chair? Can I live in a cool urban sanctuary all while having the 2.5 kids and a dog?
I mean this is going to sound strange, but part of me wants the minivan full of kids that smashes french fries into the seats all while drinking Guinness with friends on the weekends and not having to worry about paying a mortgage.
The older I get, the more confusing and strange my life becomes. I am 25 and I am about so spend a year traveling the country in a van. What am I thinking?
