Catfish for Dinner

“Audra, can you feed the chickens?”

I groaned. I just got home from school! I hadn’t even set my bag down yet, and Mom was already telling me what to feed first. I regretted asking her to get me those stupid birds. But I stayed quiet and went out to do it anyway.

I saw Dad in the garden, out there under the walnut tree. He was looking through the different plants and picking tomatoes and squashes. I grabbed the bucket from the shed and went out to the barn. I’d better get this over with fast. I just knew he would ask me to help him with the garden next. I got the chicken feed from the metal bucket in the barn and opened the coop door. The chickens immediately ran out into the yard, flapping their wings and squawking loudly as they chased down whatever it was they were so interested in eating. I found seven eggs in the coop.

I took the eggs back to the house and washed my hands. Dad came in about then. “Let’s go fishing.”

I blinked and looked at him. “I have homework.”

“We can do that later. Come on. Let’s go get some catfish.”

We loaded up the poles and tackle box in his beat up green truck, and I noticed he had a ziploc bag of cut up hotdogs. I perked up, thinking it would be a snack for later. Daddy grinned. “Catfish are gonna love these!”

I blinked. “Wait, for real? Hotdogs will catch catfish?”

“Yeah. They love ‘em. Come on. We gotta hurry.”

We drove for about five minutes, tucking down the dirt road that went back to our strip of the woods. We stopped at Uncle Wayne’s pond, which was starting to get a little overgrown. It wasn’t a big pond, but it was big enough, deep, and healthy. At least, that’s what Daddy said. He made it a point to tell me it was fed by a natural spring and that all the willows, birches, and reeds growing around it was a sign that it was good water. All I knew was, it was my favorite place to fish. There were two dead trees laying down in the water, about twenty feet apart, and on both sides of those trees was a whole mess of fish every time.

We set up the poles. I had my pole with its cork and little hook. I put a hotdog on it and threw it out to the end of the first tree, about five feet to the side. Daddy changed his pole, though. He set the cork a lot higher on the line, so high that the line with the hook on it was taller than him. He put a hook that was a little bit bigger on it, and he set a weight above the hook. He set the hotdog for bait and threw the line right down the middle, between the two trees, so the cork was floating about ten feet past the end of the trees. And then he set the pole down and sat down next to it. He leaned back against a pine and put a cigarette in his mouth. He sat there, still as a statue, and watched the cork.

A few minutes went by and I got my first bite. I pulled in a pretty bluegill, with scales that flickered between neon green and gray. I grinned and showed it to Daddy. Before I could speak, though, he put his fingers to his lips. I frowned. What was the big deal? I put the bluegill on my stringer and set it in the shallow water, and I threw my hook out to catch another one. I caught five more before Daddy’s cork bounced.

When Daddy’s cork went completely under, the fight began. He grabbed the pole and gave it one quick pop, then he reeled. The pole bent until it was the same shape as a candy cane, and I saw the fishing line grow tight and start weaving back and forth in the water. When the fish got close to the trees, he shifted the pole and pulled it back the other way. I ran over and stood behind him to watch. They fought for what felt like forever, but it was only a couple of minutes. Back and forth, side to side, slowly inching closer to the bank. Then I finally saw it, a giant fish with smooth skin, gray color, and two long whiskers next to its mouth. I grinned. Daddy had caught a catfish.

He put his thumb in its mouth and pinched down, and he lifted the fish out of the water. It was almost as long as his arm, and its belly was as big around as Daddy’s arm muscles. “That’s a big one!”

He grinned. He was panting a little, and his cigarette was a little crunched and crooked in his mouth. “Nah, they get a lot bigger. But this is a good start. Wanna add him to your string?” I did. We ended up coming home with two more fish - one more bluegill and another catfish, though it wasn’t quite as big.

We headed to the truck, and I couldn’t wait to show Mom. It was time for dinner already, and she was in the middle of making food when I ran in. “Mom, we got some fish! Daddy got a big one!”

She didn’t smile, though. “Okay. You need to wash your hands and get on your homework.”

“Daddy and I are gonna clean the fish so you can cook them.”

She sighed and I heard her mutter. I ran outside anyway. My grandparents were looking in the bed of the truck at the stringer full of fish. Papa was holding his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and nodding. “That’s a good catfish. Where’d you get those from?”

“Wayne’s pond,” Daddy answered.

Nanny nodded and looked at me. “Did you get some too?”

I smiled so big my face hurt. “I got all the bluegill!”

We got started cleaning the fish. Well, it’s more like Daddy started cleaning the fish while I stood next to the table with the bucket and pan and watched. Daddy’s left hand was beginning to shake a little, though, so he waved for me to come closer. He stepped to the side. “Here. Let me show you how to do it.” He gave me the tools one at a time and put his giant hands on top of mine, showing me how to use them. I peeled the scales off the bluegill and dipped it in the bucket to rinse the scales and slime off. I cut the meat along the backbone and put the filets in the pan. I dropped the bones and head in the other bucket. Daddy watched me, encouraging me and guiding me, as I started cleaning the next one. It was disgusting at first, getting fish slime and blood on my fingers and under my fingernails, and flies and mosquitos were getting in my eyes. But with each fish I cleaned, I got a little bit faster and a little bit better at it, until I cleaned the last bluegill in about three minutes flat. All that was left was the catfish.

“Is that it?” I asked him. I looked up at him, and he was smiling, but his eyes were sad.

He nodded and took the knife from me, rinsing it off. “You did good. I’ll do the catfish. They’re a good bit harder to do. You gotta be real strong to pull that skin off.”

“Okay. I love you, Daddy. Thanks for taking me fishing!”

He nodded again. “Wait a sec. Do you know why we go fishing?”

I cocked my head a little. “To get fish.”

“Yeah, but do you know why?”

I stared at him. His question didn’t make any sense to me. What else was fishing, if not to get fish? After a minute, he answered. “We go fishing because that’s food we don’t have to pay for. We can catch what we need, when we need it, but never more than that. So if we ever get hungry and your Mom’s having a hard time, we can always go get fish. But never take more than we can all eat. Okay? Remember that.”

I nodded slowly. Never take more than we can all eat.

He spoke again when I didn’t move. “Does that make sense?”

I nodded. “It does. So… we go fishing when we’re hungry, and we only take as much as we need? It makes sense, Daddy.”

He smiled. “Good girl. Now go get cleaned up and do your homework. Make sure you give Mommy a kiss. Tell her I’ll be there soon.”

I took off to the house, taking the pan of fish meat with me. I set it on the counter next to the sink, washed my hands, and I hugged Mom’s back. “I’m done. I’m going to do my homework!”

She finally smiled and touched my head with her hand. “Good. I’m proud of you. Dinner will be ready in a second. Is your Daddy still out there?”

“He is. He’s got to do the catfish. We got enough that everyone can eat tomorrow.”

She finally smiled. “That sounds good.”