
I am blessed. I have four boys. A baby of two months, a two-year old, a four-year old, and a six-year old. As for the eldest, tonight is the last night he will be six. He is very excited about being seven and growing up. We are excited for him. Having other, younger children helps the sweet to outweigh the bitter. Still, our first boy is growing up.
For me, one thing that makes less bittersweet is his love of the outdoors and fly fishing. It means we’re closer to more opportunities together. I know that with each passing year more adventures will come. As he grows up and is able to do more, we’ll be able to do more together.
For tonight, he’s still six.
He still likes being read to at bedtime along with his brothers. With three tired little minds to please, finding a book isn’t always easy. It requires a consensus among the group regarding the title. Easier still is an executive order from a parent. Tonight, I chose the latter. Still I had to decide quickly.
Then the thought hit me.
A River Runs Through It, with some discretionary editing, would be fun. And if not fun, at least sleep inducing. I fetched my copy of the fly fishing classic, crisp corners and smooth spine more indicative of my obsessive care for books than this particular volume’s use.
All three boys were intrigued to know what I was going to be reading. I asked for patience, that they’d hear soon enough. This was most difficult for the almost 7-year old.
I knew that he would be excited about the story. Norman, the protagonist, was the son of a pastor who is also a fly fisherman. While I am not a Presbyterian, I am a pastor. And, of course, I am a fly fisherman. Hearing this most basic premise, he could relate. His eyes lit up and he propped himself up on his elbows.
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