When my parents married in 1983 they tried very hard to have children. After visiting several doctors, however, it was determined that they would be unable to conceive. Unbeknownst to them, the Lord had other plans: seven years later, they found out that my Mom was pregnant with me! Of course, amidst the ecstatic congratulations the standard question was posed to both: “Do you want a girl or a boy?” While both replied that they didn’t care as long as I was healthy, my Dad elicited an unusual preference; he wanted a little girl. My Dad is an avid hunter and fisherman, so this response was received with vast incredulity. “No!” his friends cried, astonished. To this customary disbelief my Dad had a customary answer and a smile: “A little girl will still love you and hug you even when she’s a grown woman – she won’t be embarrassed to kiss you in front of other people. Besides, little girls can fish just like little boys.”
His prediction was quite accurate. My early childhood memories are centered around the city of Dahlonega, and one of the brightest is set in the summer of 1993. My Dad has always been keen on fresh trout, and I share his taste. One of the best places to catch a rainbow is a broad stream behind a stand of trees on the edge of an old soccer field; the spot is known only to a few. On this day my Dad and I went fishing for some father-daughter time; little did he know how entertaining that time would prove to be.
While we stood waiting for a bite, he pointed out an old carp floating down the current. As I spied the old devil (barely alive) easing his way down the center of the stream (on his side, no less!) my mischievous mind (so much like my Dad’s) was awhirl with activity. “Do you want me to catch him for you?!” I asked eagerly. He laughed in reply. “Honey, you can’t catch that fish!” Woe unto him that should utter that fateful phrase to a small child of determination: “you can’t” was invariably the death sentence for all challengers attempting to block my small, energetic path. My immediate response was, “I can too! You just watch me!” and without further ado I plunged, clothes and all, into the creek, splashing toward the ill-fated target for all I was worth.
Miraculously, luck was very much on my side (although it was possibly due to my extraordinary ignorance of all practical limitations). When I jumped into the creek, I caused such a disturbance that whatever remaining gumption that creature possessed was sparked exuberantly into life. He somehow righted himself and set a course to quick escape- unluckily for him, his powers of navigation had not been revived. He swam away, all right- straight onto a sandbar. Perfect. I pounced immediately, holding on to the rascal with all the strength my wiry little arms could muster. Afraid of letting him get away, I raised him triumphantly above my head with both hands – by the tail. That was a mistake.
Because I was now holding onto the slender, most flexible part of his body, the carp had full mobility once again, flopping around like crazy as I struggled to keep him aloft. With every flick I swayed on my feet and got another spray of water in the face. This prompted my cries of, “Daddy! Daddy! Help me! Get him now!” followed by my Dad’s shout: “Well throw him down! Throw him down!” WHOMP. Taking my Dad’s advice to heart, I had proceeded to fling the carp (which was two feet long to my three feet of stature) on the bank away from any possible means of escape- And even were the means available, I’m pretty sure it was too stunned to do anything but lay there.
As I turned, vindicated, to my Dad, I was astonished to find him doubled over with hysterical laughter. I marched up to him, chest puffed out like a little soldier, and proclaimed majestically, “See, Daddy! I TOLD you I could catch that fish!” As soon as he stopped laughing, he became serious for only a moment, saying, “And you were right!” before dissolving into laughter again. That day he took a Polaroid snapshot of me with my personal “big fish” – the kind that takes others years of retelling to grow. It sits in his office to this day as a reminder that anyone can do anything he or she sets their mind to. This is the only tall tale that he can boast of over and over again without any danger of exaggeration- it couldn’t possibly get any bigger.
Through the years, the rest of my Dad’s predictions have come true, as well. We’ve always been extremely close, and I’ve never turned down an opportunity to squeeze his hand, hug his neck, or kiss his cheek, no matter where we are. I tell him I love him in front of my friends, family, and complete strangers. Every phone conversation we have ends with the words, “I love you, Daddy.” I’ve been just as much a tomboy as I have a princess; from the top of my head to the tips of my painted toes, I am every inch my father’s daughter. Even when I’m older and have children of my own, we both know that I’ll forever be my Daddy’s girl.
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