The Morning My Father Took Me Fishing - A Lesson In Presence

On a quiet morning in 1969, my father woke me up with five simple words: “Let’s go fishing today.” I was five years old, and that short time on a small pond left an imprint on my soul that has lasted a lifetime.

This reflection is about love in its most powerful form — not grand gestures or perfect words, but presence. It’s a story about how the simplest moments shape who we become, how they stay with us long after the people we love are gone.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Transcript

Hello, I'm Curtis, And I want to welcome you to Walking Home, A space to breathe, Reflect, And remember what matters most. The story you're about to hear isn't about grand achievements or dramatic moments. It's about a quiet morning, A small boat, And the steady presence of a father beside his son. Some memories stay with us long after the details fade. They settle deep inside, Becoming part of who we are, Shaping how we love, How we hope, And how we remember. One of those memories for me is the morning my father took me fishing when I was just a boy. I don't remember how we got back to shore, Nor the walk back to the house, But I do remember standing beside him on that little boat, My small hands gripping a fishing pole, The water around us still and quiet. And I believe that memory is true, Not just as a fragment of childhood, But because the love my father shared with me that morning has outlived him. Even after his passing in 2008, Those feelings remain. When I close my eyes, I can still feel his presence beside me, Still see his smiling face when I looked up. Love has that power. It shapes our memories, Our hopes, And the way we love others. Even now, More than five decades later, I can still feel the significance of that morning, Not in the details of what we did, But in the impressions that remain. His presence that day was enough to last a lifetime. As the nature of love, It leaves an imprint on the soul that time cannot erase. Love doesn't always come wrapped in grand gestures, Perfect circumstances, Or costly sacrifices. It doesn't require perfection in any form. It simply needs to be recognized by those who share it. And often, It is not the act itself we remember, But the feeling it left behind. That morning taught me that presence, Simple, Wholehearted presence. It can leave a deeper mark on someone's soul than almost anything else. Even the grandest gesture, If it isn't received and recognized inwardly, Will fade away. But the quiet act of being there, That endures. This is especially true in moments of suffering or crisis. Many of us struggle to find the right words when someone we care about is hurting. But the truth is, They often don't need our words. They just need us. As the song says, You say it best when you say nothing at all. There's an old story in the Bible about a man named Job who lost everything, His family, His wealth, Even his health. His wife told him to curse God and die. Three friends came to comfort him, And for a while, They did the most loving thing possible. They sat silently beside him in his grief. But when they finally opened their mouths, Their words brought harm rather than healing. It was their presence, Not their speeches, That had truly comforted him. Love's greatest gift isn't always what we do or say. It's the stability we bring in the middle of chaos, The anchor we offer when someone's world is falling apart. Leo Biscaglia once wrote, Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, A smile, A kind word, A listening ear, An honest compliment, Or the smallest act of caring, All of which have the potential to turn a life around. Let's take time this week to offer that kind of love, The kind that lingers long after the moment has passed. The kind that can give direction to a wandering soul, The kind that becomes an anchor for someone else's journey home. Thank you for spending this time with me. I'm Curtis, And I am the Wayward Son, Still walking home, One story at a time.