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Just for Fun, Learning, Mental Health, Personal Growth, Small People

Thanks, Dad!

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First written and published in 1996, a previous version of this article won the “best story about fishing with Dad” award from the Northwoods Sporting Journal in 2007. It’s also a chapter to Small People — Big Brains by Mr. Boomsma. I remember this day often and especially on Father’s Day.  This year I thought I’d share it. 

“This shouldn’t be happening…” according to Ivan – my friend, father-in-law and erstwhile guide to Maine water. He wasn’t complaining though. I was otherwise occupied with my third bass in less than thirty minutes.

Ivan was my father-in-law by marriage. He was my friend by choice. We shared an understanding of the difference between “going fishing” and “catching fish.” We agreed that “going fishing” is as enjoyable as “catching fish.”

We had spent the morning fishing—working the edges of the pond with very little action. We were ready for some catching, so we dropped anchor, switched to ultra-lights, and started soaking night crawlers in anticipation of a few yellow perch.

This was proving mildly successful when the bass we had been after all morning started interfering with our perch fishing. No doubt a more technically oriented fisherman could explain what happened. We were satisfied with simply enjoying it until a fall storm forced us off the lake.

Later as we sat by the fire with our post-trip libations I found my mind wandering back to another time when something happened that shouldn’t have while fishing. It was a lesson that I never forgot.

My father was hooked on fishing. I think he waited until I was walking before he bought me my first pole. It was an unbreakable steel rod (not much action). The little stream that ran through our yard was never more than ankle deep. My ankles weren’t very far from terra firma at that age, so I was allowed to “go fishing” on my own. I lost a lot of hooks in that little brook. If Dad wasn’t around, I’d switch to a safety pin when my hooks were gone. I had to keep fishing. I had to be just like him.

I figured the reason he went across the road to the big river was to leave all the fish in the little brook for me. The fact that I never caught anything did nothing to dissuade me from the idea that Dad was the most unselfish person I knew. The reason he nearly always came home with trout was simply that he was bigger than I and had more experience. I didn’t truly appreciate his patience then as he tried to teach a bumbling, excited five-year-old the fine points of casting and bait placement.

Finally, he and Mom decided I was “big enough” to go with him across the road. My patience was strained to the maximum while we sat through Mom’s lecture about “keeping an eye on me.” My safety pin was removed and replaced with a real hook and off we went on my very first guided trip.

The river was overwhelming but not intimidating. I knew about currents from sailing my boats in the brook. Dad positioned me near a pool my five-year-old arms could reach. He reviewed casting techniques and suggested I just let my worm follow the current. I was warned not to tell Mom about it later, but he was going downstream where he knew there was a big one.

I could see that the techniques I’d been using weren’t going to work. On the little brook, I could always wade in and put my worm exactly where I wanted it. Now I was forced to cast a whole three feet and use nearly all my line. It took what seemed like an eternity to get the wrist action necessary.

On my fifteenth cast, I had that old familiar feeling that meant another lost hook. It wouldn’t do to lose it on my first trip to the big river. So I crossed my fingers (making it hard to hold the pole) and pulled hard. The worm and hook went flying over my shoulder. A little scared now; I realized I had to keep trying even though danger lurked below.

By the time I was reaching the current after only three false casts (false in this context meaning wrong), I was convinced that the bump I was feeling was a bite. Dad had described the feeling in intimate detail and even though I had never experienced it before, I was firmly convinced this was it.

Meanwhile Dad—either out of a desire to try different water or the memory of Mom’s lecture—was coming close. I wanted to watch how he got his line out so far, but I was too busty trying to nab my very first trout. Soon he was standing at my side. “Catching anything?”

I replied that I hadn’t yet, but was about to. He asked for my pole so he could see what was going on. His cast was flawless but his drift didn’t last any longer than mine. How long does it take for five feet of line to play out? He reeled in, handed me back the pole and announced, “Try the next pool. What you’re feeling is the bottom as your worm bumps along.” Then he moved upstream.

What a dilemma! Dad was always right and he always has my best interest at heart. But I was sure he was wrong this time. Or was he? Either way, would continuing to fish this pool be disobedient? If he saw me would he be hurt because I hadn’t listened? And why had he smiled if there was no fish there?

After this great inner battle, I invoked the standard just-a-little-longer logic of all fishermen. I concentrated so hard my head hurt. Cast. Bump. Nothing. Cast. Bump. Yank. Nothing. Cast Bump. Yank…
Something flew over my head that was bigger than my worm. I spun around and saw the trout flapping on the bank. It freed itself from my hook and was working its way back to the river! I pounced on it with a tackle that would make a football coach proud. As I wrestled with my monster I looked up and saw Dad watching. His grin went from ear-to-ear and maybe even around the back of his head. “Got one, did you? Well, I’m surprised! I haven’t caught a thing. Let’s take all eight inches of it home and show Mom.”

She never let on if she tired of hearing all the details of that fine catch. And she seemed genuinely amazed when Dad told her that I had showed him up because he was convinced there should not have been a fish where I caught mine.

Age has not diminished my love of fishing. I still get excited. I still make false (defined as wrong) casts. And I still use the just-a-little-longer theory. I’ve given up on safety pins though. And I wonder about my first trout.

I have a theory about that first trout. For years I was proud that I had figured out something Dad hadn’t and I told everyone who would listen. (And sometimes people who wouldn’t.) Like all fishing trips, my first trip to the big river has improved with time and my fish has gotten bigger. But I no longer think I outsmarted Dad.

I think he knew that trout was there.

And I think he knew what would happen when I caught it. For one, he knew that hooking that trout would hook me on fishing. More importantly,  he knew I’d learn by experience what independence and self reliance truly are. In fishing and in life there are always “shoulds” and “shouldn’ts.” There will always be “reliable sources” and truths. But the greatest resource each of us has is inside us.

My resource was tested several years after catching my first trout when my Dad died. But then and through the many years since that resource has been there and, in a very real sense so has Dad. He guided me to my first trout and led me to believe in myself.

Thanks, Dad.

In memory of Walter Boomsma, Sr.
1926–1954

Causes and Friends, School Programs, Teaching

Thank a Teacher!

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It could be just as simple as a note sent to school… that doesn’t say the dog ate Sally’s homework. It says, “Thanks for being Sally’s teacher.”

Teachers provide so much to our students—inspiration, motivation and, ultimately, their futures. They change the lives of millions of children every day, and their work and impact extends far beyond the boundaries of the classroom.

If you’d like a certificate or ready made card:

Communication, Mental Health, Personal Growth, Small People

Thanks, Kids!

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I learn a lot from kids. And occasionally they remind me of important truths.

Last week I was in a kindergarten class. I always have fun introducing myself with the age appropriate explanation that there are two sounds, two syllables in my last name. The kids seem to enjoy blending the sounds to arrive at something approximating “Mr. Boomsma.” My activity with these little ones was to create a graph of the class’s favorite farm animal, so I also explained that I would be calling them up one at a time to select their favorite animal so we could glue its picture on the developing graph poster.

One little girl raised her hand high and, when I called on her, asked, “When we come up to do that, may we tell you our names?”

The very next day I attended a middle school science fair, primarily to take photographs. I know most of the kids and they know me. I was scanning the room for photo ops when a student walked over, stood beside me and said, “How are you, Mr. Boomsma?” Normally I have a happy snappy comeback like “If I were any better I’d have to be twins,” but for some reason I only said, “I’m okay.”

Perhaps because the answer was out of character she asked, “What’s wrong?” I briefly debated changing the answer to something more positive. But decided to be honest and share that I have been having some trouble with a pinched nerve that’s causing some trouble with my right arm and hand. She expressed genuine concern and encouragement. I was, to be honest, surprised. She’s not seemed to me to be overly compassionate. Now I realize that might have been because I haven’t given her the opportunity.

Those two incidents have something in common. They both demonstrate the fact that kids of all ages desire and need human connection. I fear too often we deny them the opportunity because we forget they are little human beings, not simply kids.

That kindergartener wanted me to know her and her classmates by name. It was a noble gesture on her part and perhaps a bit of a failure on my part. (In my defense we were pressed for time, but I still feel like I failed a little. They were sitting around me on the rug, so I couldn’t see the name tags on their desks.)

The middle schooler and I knew each other; it wasn’t about names but it was about connecting. I learned a long time ago not to read too much into kids’ behavior, but our encounter was out of character for both of us and did make me think. I am rarely less than happy and good when with students. She has not, historically expressed much interest in my well-being.

The simple truth is we connected in a way that was not usual. It matters far less why than the fact that it did. I certainly am not going to analyze it and remove the joy from it.

I am going to let these incidents serve as a reminder to view humans, regardless of size and age, as humans. We need to be interested in each other. We need to connect with each other.

Human connection doesn’t have to be hard or complex. It could just be wanting to know the other person’s name. In kindergarten it meant listening enthusiastically to a young fellow who insisted he has 6,000 horses and he rides each one every day. (I whispered to the teacher, “I’ll bet you’ve told him a billion times not to exaggerate!”) He gets a lot of points for excitement and enthusiasm. Accuracy is not so critical to the explanation of how much he likes horses.

Human connection could also just be about being interested in how another person is feeling. And, while I don’t recommend we answer with a detailed description of our many health woes, we might choose to put some thought and honesty into our replies.

Some of my favorite conversations with kids are the brief ones, walking through the halls. I’ll try to keep pace with someone and ask how the day is going or for something learned that day. Sometimes I’ll just ask, “Are you okay?” if they seem troubled. I’m not always prepared for the answers, but I try to remember it’s mostly about listening and connecting.

Kids are, I think, better at connecting than adults partly because they haven’t developed as many filters and while often prone to exaggeration, they generally are honest. I recall one conversation with a youngster whose rabbit had died. I mustered up my best empathy until he explained, “No problem. We’re getting a new one tomorrow.” If he’d been a little older I’d have suggested he consider teaching grief management. I suspect we might learn something from him.

Be open and willing to kids and adults. Don’t think of it as trying to be helpful, although that may be one of the results. Think of it as being interested and truly concerned. And that kid may be more interested in you than you realize. We are more alike than different. Why not share those alikes?

Communication, Personal Growth, School Programs, Substitute Teaching, Teaching

Show ‘N Tell Becomes Show ‘N Share…

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While working at school recently, I dropped by a classroom to pick up a couple of students for an activity. The class was finishing up a “Show ‘N Share,” so I had an opportunity to learn a few things about a contemporary toy and a somewhat bedraggled teddy bear.

For history and trivia buffs, Show ‘N Tell began as a toy combination record player and filmstrip viewer manufactured by General Electric in the mid-1960s. It was pretty high-tech stuff then.

Somehow, the concept has morphed over the years into what might be more accurately described as “Show ‘N Share.” For the educationally minded,  the activity meets the English Language Arts standards in Kindergarten and primary grades.

A not-so-subtle difference is that kids are actively learning more about the item instead of passively watching and listening. One of the things I particularly enjoyed and admired was watching the teacher facilitate the discussion. He was truly interested in the items and asked questions that demonstrated his interest.

A recent Trainer’s Warehouse Blog post made an interesting comparison between gossiping and asking questions. One suggestion was that gossiping is about bonding and it’s easier to bond by offering information than it is to ask questions. When we have a good gossip about someone or something, all we usually do is agree with each other and reinforce what we already believe.

But good questions can be much more effective when we are trying to establish a human connection.  For the few minutes I was part of the Show ‘N Share, I noticed the teacher used different types of questions. Most people are familiar with the difference between “closed-ended” questions (can be answered yes or no) and “open-ended” questions that require more information.  The teacher was asking both, but also varying between reflective questions (that make people think) and probing questions that cause the answerer to go deeper and provide more information. He didn’t use a lot of leading questions (that actually suggest the desired answer).

I’ve provided a stock photo of a teddy bear with this article for those wanting to develop their questioning skills. If a child brought it to Show N Share, what sorts of questions would you ask? An obvious one (probing question) is, “Why is he wearing a band-aid?” I might start with “Does he have a name?” (closed-ended) in an attempt to “get to know” who we’re talking about.

Show N Share is really about communication and conversation. We don’t always have a prop in conversation, but we do have a subject.

Some of the kids get really excited waiting for their turn to “show.” But we are also learning this is not just about showing and telling. Steven Covey once observed, “Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.” I think he’s right. But if we understand Show ‘N Share, maybe we realize our reply might best be a good question.

Causes and Friends, Mental Health, Mental Hygiene, Personal Growth, Small People, Teaching

A Different Sort of Vigilance?

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I hesitate to bring up the recent school shooting in Florida, but a reality exists—this incident seems to have impacted many people, including, I confess me.

In our search for ways to protect our children, we not only have to guard against extremism and hysteria, we have to protect our children (and ourselves) from the emotional damage that often accompanies tragedies and trauma. It is perhaps, a different sort of vigilance, but is just as important.

We may be thousands of miles removed physically from this event but that does not mean we are not hurt and harmed. Children may especially have difficulty realizing and expressing those impacts. Watch for behavior changes. Take news breaks and social media breaks to avoid constant exposure to both your children and yourself.  Look for the helpers and the rainbows and remember to laugh.

I have been adding and expanding resources on my ” website— and for resources that help address tragedy, trauma, and grief. I have talked with too many students and teachers who are finding themselves struggling to cope with this latest incident. Please keep your eyes and ears open and do not hesitate to “reach out” to anyone who seems to be grappling, stressed or acting differently. I recently dealt with a child who had an unexplained panic attack. I can’t help but wonder about the causes…

If you find yourself having difficulty initiating a conversation, watch this one minute video, “.” If you need to help someone–or think you need help yourself, reach out and connect. It’s important.