What Does He Need?

by | Jan 20, 2020 | 14 comments

A new baseball bat? A fishing reel? A dog? How about his own room instead of sharing cramped quarters with his younger brother? Ask him what he wants, and he’ll jump for any of those things. (There will also be a strong emphasis on the puppy — accompanied by a long, persuasive argument.) But what does he need most?

I barely remember my life at eleven years old. Fifth grade, Little League, fishing, a few video games, and . . . hey, that’s just like his life right now. Yes, by no surprise, my son is a lot like me. And I understand what drives and motivates him.

He’s been spending hours at a time in the woods this year, on solitary walks with a pair of binoculars or a walking stick. And I get that too. I think I spent half my childhood roaming the twelve acres of my parents’ land and hiking across neighboring fields and dirt roads. I knew my surroundings, and I expanded my perimeter as I grew. He’s doing the same now, and on many after-school evenings this fall, he geared up with boots, waders, rod and vest. Then he walked down the hill toward our home water and fished. That’s something I was missing at eleven. But he has access to one of the best wild trout rivers in the state.

Every time he returns from one of these solitary hikes or fishing trips, my son seems a little older, somehow more mature. He also returns more peacefully than when he left. I feel that in him. I understand what the woods and the water do for a soul.

 

But I’m also surprised. While I’m classically introverted, he’s clearly an extrovert — and that alone is our major difference. I’ve gone to the river for an escape my whole life, to get away from the people, places and things that wear me down after an overflow of exposure. So seeing him seek out that same experience reminds me how there’s more to being in nature than just escaping things. It’s the feeling of independence, the connection to life without language, to things that exist free of judgment. Nature just is. It lives. It thrives. And the space between the branches and riverbanks harbors time itself. These places change, but they are more constant than shifting, more lasting than fading. The stream that I fished as a boy every April still holds the same trout, and I follow those familiar bends upstream around rocky mountains. Fallen trees have diverted the channels enough to move the main flow twenty yards east or west, but permanence is more powerful. Here, change is minimal. And that’s comforting.

READ: Troutbitten | Right Here

He feels it too. And so he’s drawn to the woods, to these places larger than his small life that often seems too big. I’ve been doing the same for forty-four years.

But what else does he need?

Time.

More than anything, I feel his desire for my companionship, for my leadership, for some instruction and for my love. The closest bonds I’ve formed with other men in my life have been forged on the river. I get it. So my son and I fish. And we walk through the forest when he asks. He wants to hunt, so we’ll do that too. Anything that brings us together, outside and with dirt and water under our feet, I’m in.

 

Ed O’Neil said the following, on the TV show, Modern Family: Ninety percent of being a Dad is just showing up.” This nod to Woody Allen’s phrase about showing up for life in general hits home for me. I’ve spent much of my time following through on the commitments and promises I’ve made to myself. After playing guitar for a few months in my late teens, I realized that I’d only progress if I dedicated a part of myself to the instrument. So I vowed to play the guitar every day — at least one chord — no matter what. To fulfill that promise, I took it with me everywhere. I played every day. Always. And on those days when I picked it up merely to fulfill my obligation — to play one chord — I was predictably tempted by the muse to play more. And an hour later, my fingertips were sore from a good workout. All of that eventually led to a rewarding career in music for seventeen years.

I fished as a kid. And I fished a lot more when I turned sixteen. Finally, I could drive to the next county, toward better water with elusive wild trout. But I always wanted a good stream in my backyard too. And in 2003, when my wife and I moved to central PA, I had it. So I made a promise to myself, to fish five days a week, no matter what, in all four seasons. I did that for six years, until my first son was born. Then those fishing hours turned into Dad hours. Being a father is the greatest opportunity I’ve been given. So I show up. And I do my best to balance other responsibilities with dedicated time for both of my sons.

And when my oldest seems a little lost, a little confused or overwhelmed because he’s eleven years old, I take him fishing. Or we go for a walk among the pines and look for squirrels. Because both of us need nothing as much as we need what the woods gives back to us.

 

Enjoy the day.
Domenick Swentosky
T R O U T B I T T E N
domenick@troutbitten.com

 

Share This Article . . .

Since 2014 and 900+ articles deep
Troutbitten is a free resource for all anglers.
Your support is greatly appreciated.

– Explore These Post Tags –

Domenick Swentosky

Central Pennsylvania

Hi. I’m a father of two young boys, a husband, author, fly fishing guide and a musician. I fish for wild brown trout in the cool limestone waters of Central Pennsylvania year round. This is my home, and I love it. Friends. Family. And the river.

More from this Category

Last Cast

Last Cast

The light of the last day of the year began to fade, and I reminisced a bit. It’s been an incredible year for me, full of life lessons that I probably needed to work on for some time now.

Here’s to living the next year vividly . . .

What to Trust

What to Trust

Of the good fishermen I know, one thing I see in all of them is how easily they can reach conclusions about fish habits. They have a knack for knowing what to trust and when to trust it.

The damned thing about a river is that it changes every day, and the habits of trout follow. If you’re observant enough to see the dynamics of a river, you can predict how the fish will respond, just by correlating their behavior patterns with the changes in water level, clarity, food availability, etc. Often, though, that’s a big leap to take. And it requires trusting in your observations enough to act decisively on them . . .

The Further You Walk, the More You Leave Behind

The Further You Walk, the More You Leave Behind

You’re alone, and it’s still not enough. You can feel the pressure of communities, of people and things. It’s coming from behind. You want to feel lonesome again. So you walk.

This place is yours again, if just for a while . . .

You’d walk twice as far if it got you here every time . . .

Thirty-Inch Liars

Thirty-Inch Liars

Every fisherman in the parking lot seems to have a thirty-inch fish story, don’t they?

You know what I hear when someone says a fish was “about two feet long?” I hear: “I didn’t measure the fish.”

Bass guys don’t put up with this stuff. My friend, Sawyer (a dedicated bass and musky guy), is dumbfounded by the cavalier way trout fishermen throw estimates around. In his world, if you didn’t measure it, you don’t put a number on it. They take it seriously. We trout fishermen embarrass ourselves with estimates.

Waiting On Luck

Waiting On Luck

With the river at its peak, Dad and I spent a drizzly day with no one in sight at any hour, early or late. Alone together against the odds, we landed the occasional fish purely by accident. Yes, we targeted the backwaters. Sure, we fished deer hair sculpins, worm patterns and chartreuse things. But such are the measures suggested by those who peddle wishful thinking more than experience. Nothing was consistent in those roiling waters.

Regardless, Dad and I fished. And we hoped. We were waiting on luck . . .

Fishing With Kids — The Independence Marker

Fishing With Kids — The Independence Marker

At thirteen years old, he has enough experience with the woods and water that I don’t think twice about dropping him off to fish for the evening, awaiting his call when he’s either fished out or it’s getting dark. When I pick him up, he’s full of excitement and stories, or he is calm and peaceful in a way that I don’t often see him. I let him be, in those times, and allow the experience for him to soak in, as he processes a return to the world after a long outing. Leaving the water to rejoin life is sometimes a hard turn.

Kids soak in the rhythms of nature. And later in life, maybe around twelve years old, that base of experience pays off . . .

What do you think?

Be part of the Troutbitten community of ideas.
Be helpful. And be nice.

14 Comments

  1. Great piece, Dominic. I too grew up like you and your boy, lucky enough to have space to tromp through, and be alone without being too far from home. Like you, it has made me who I am. But, when you asked, “What does he need?”, I immediately thought of the place in central Arizona where I grew up. It is now covered in subdivisions. No more will anyone be able to hunt dove and quail there, or have access to the creek I fished and swam in. So, while I completely agree kids need time, they also need a place. And, if for no other reason, we need to protect those places as fiercely as we protect our children.

    Keep up the good work. I love your evocative and heartful writing.
    Peace, and tight lines,
    G.

    Reply
  2. Very nice! I wish you both well on your journey.

    Reply
  3. Dom, what an important piece you’ve written here. As a dad of 4 and now grandpa to 7 grandkids, I’d say you are amazingly in tune with what your son needs, and yes, showing up and listening is the main thing. My observation is that kids need a healthy, balanced diet of the predictable along with a culture of possibility. Yes, we need to teach them, but also stand next to them as they explore and discover their own voice and path. Being outside provides both of those things in huge measure.

    Reply
  4. Great piece, “just showing up” is what many are missing from their Dad’s. I helped run an Outdoor Adventure class for high school students and couldn’t believe how many said “this is great, my Dad would never take me to do this”. It was sad, but they were super appreciative of the opportunities!

    Reply
    • Just a great article Dom. My son is eleven this year and God has been so generous to bless me with his companionship in fly fishing. It bonds us like nothing else right now and I’m beyond grateful for it. Thank you for putting your well thought words here on the subject.

      Reply
  5. Great observations. I had to teach myself how to fly fish and tie flies at that age growing up along Duck Run in Mackeyville. My Dad didn’t have the knowledge or patience for my high energy and questionable personality. I remember how grown up I felt when I trekked across the Cow pasture to fish the big Fishing Creek . When I came home that evening and told Dad, he just nodded and said “good work, you’re learning valuable lessons”. When I became a father of two, I made sure I coached soccer, became a Scout Leader, went to all the musicals and band concerts and didn’t miss a soccer goal by my daughter and saved goals by my son. Love your articles and the time you guided me on Penns Creek. Enjoy, they grow like weeds and become teenagers in no time.

    Reply
  6. Any man could be a father, but not every father is a Dad.

    Reply
  7. Great article, Nothing better that taken and or spending time with your children. My daughter is now 27 and son is 23 and started to take them fishing as soon as they could walk. My daughter caught her first trout on the Letort Spring Run and son regularly fishes with me as we speak. We had the opportunity to fish this past year on the Big Horn in Montana with my father as well. Many years have passed from running my daughter to dance class and son to soccer and football practice but the memories will be with me forever.

    Reply
  8. Wow….fantastic piece, and I’m sure will resonate for many as it does for me.

    Reply
  9. Really a lovely essay, Dom. I am sure your boys will grow into really fine men given the way you steward them. Made me think of my years roaming around the woods and fields behind my house. I might hv Been extra blessed- I started driving to go fishing at 12! Honest, you could do that in a tiny town.

    Reply
  10. I really enjoy your writing and this one really hits home as the father of two young boys. I’d love to read about how you teach your boys the basics of fishing. I’ve been working on that but would love more direction.

    Reply
  11. Excellent piece Dom. You are clearly on the right path in teaching your son valuable lessons. I hope you are patient unlike myself. They will be grown before you know it.

    Best,
    Tom

    Reply
  12. My little boy is six and he and his sister are my greatest joy. This was a great piece. He’s a lucky kid your boy.

    Reply

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Recent Articles

Recent Posts

Domenick Swentosky

Central Pennsylvania

Hi. I’m a father of two young boys, a husband, author, fly fishing guide and a musician. I fish for wild brown trout in the cool limestone waters of Central Pennsylvania year round. This is my home, and I love it. Friends. Family. And the river.

Pin It on Pinterest