Four, five times a year, Dad and I went on fishing trips. “Guy time,” he told my mother.
There was more than fishing. At both motels and campgrounds, Dad often found female companions. I slept in the bathtub or truck.
I disliked stabbing worms so I switched to Velveeta and spinners. Dad rarely caught fish; he threw mine back or gave them away. “Catch and release,” he told Mom when we returned empty-handed.
“Guy time” ended when I left for college. But I didn’t forget Dad’s lessons. I’m never with any woman very long. Catch and release.
From: Friday Flash Fiction