Word: fathered
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...slithered out of the Jeep and into my beaten-up tennis shoes and grabbed my gear that my father had meticulously arranged during my date the previous night. My red-and-pink shrimptail lure had been enlisted for battle with everything from speckled trout to eel-like ribbonfish. The assortment of friendly people half-submerged in the water reminded me that I was not in Boston...
...waded out into water that almost perfectly matched my body temperature and was remarkably clear for the Mississippi River-catching Gulf Coast. My father reminded me to pop the rod tip, making the lure look less like lifeless rubber and more like food, something a fellow beachgoer must have known as he yanked a four-foot hammerhead shark out of the water...
Determined to preserve quality time, I sucked it up, batted a few of them away with the rod butt and continued casting. I even heard my dad yelp from the stings a couple of times, which, strangely, made me feel a little better. Sometimes having tangible evidence that your father also experiences human pain can be comforting...
Soon enough, the line was fixed, and we were side-by-side again. Nearing the end of the morning feeding period, my father had caught the lone keeper-sized speckled trout, only about fifteen inches long. What became of it may shock...
...fished until about 10:15 a.m. At about 10:10, the wheels fell off. Heeding a warning from an hour earlier about a shark in the area, the few wading fisherman, including my father, were trying to keep their stringers of fish out of the water. As I turned around to begin walking in toward shore, my father made his last few casts. Then, WHAP! A giant slapping sound and a lightning-like splash of water shattered our serene scene...