Another boy caught a fish, too. He yelled and they all crowded around as he reeled it in. They ran up the hill as one unit, like something you'd see in a cartoon, to show the men.
I stood, quietly observing. "That's what I was supposed to do", I thought to myself. I chose not to participate in the celebration. My fish had been larger than his. But now, nobody would believe me. I didn't even say anything when I caught the bass just minutes before. I didn't know I was supposed to say, or do, anything.
It was summer camp. I was about ten years old and hadn't been fishing since my dad died five years earlier. I kept it to myself, only telling one friend that I had also caught a fish, "but", I added, "I know that no one will believe me since they didn't see it." He agreed.
That day stands out to me as one example of what it meant to have no father in my home. Whether it's fishing, hunting, working on the car, or whatever, our boys need us to spend time with them. This is how they learn what a real man looks like.
Yesterday, Tucker caught the smallest fish I've ever seen bite a hook. He insisted that I take his picture with it. He knew, somehow, that the size of the fish wasn't the point.
Men, be a father to your sons by spending time with them. Do MAN things together.
This is your legacy.
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