So here goes..
Back when I was young, I lived on a farm in Maysville, Oklahoma. Our house was about five miles from our nearest neighbor so we were stuck hanging out with each other whether we liked it or not.
There were some disadvantages to living so far from civilization, but there were also some really amazing advantages. We had the run of several acres of land dotted with some old barns and even some well stocked farm ponds.
Of course for a farm kid, fishing was a priority, and we were no exception. One summer day we loaded the our lunch pails with sandwhiches, grabbed our cane poles, and headed down to the "big" pond. The "big" pond was about 1/2 a mile from our back door. The big pond had some really nice catfish in it, and a great shade tree that we could sit under and watch our bobbers in the water.
After a few pit stops to do a little frog giggin' and crawfishin' in a couple of the smaller ponds for bait, we made it to the "big" pond. We set up our spot under the shade tree, and started to fish. Of course my brother got the first hit; he always did. I think it's because he smelled closer to stink bait than anything you could buy in the store and the fish just sensed it, but he still bragged about it none the less. He wrestled with that fish for a while trying to get it up on the bank.
In the midst of the struggle, his line got tangled with mine. He started yelling at me to get my line out of the water. "Hurry up sis, you're gonna make me lose it!" He yelled. My 5-year-old mind was racing as fast as it could trying to figure out what to do. I couldn't very well reel it in.. it was a cane pole so I yanked it as hard as I could. My hook came flying out of that water so fast I didn't even know what was going on and caught a hold of my brothers right ear.
I being the good little sister tried to yank it out, but soon realized that the barb in on the hook wasn't going to allow that. Boy, my brother was mad at me. His face was all red and tears were streaming out of his eyes and he said, "Sis, cut the line." Then I grabbed his pole and the lunch pail and we started the 1/2 mile walk back up to the house.
When we got home I just knew he was going to get me in trouble, but he told momma that it was his fault to keep me out of trouble. I was pretty thankful for that, because any other story would have meant a pretty good beatin' for me.
I told him at least a million times I was sorry, and he said he forgave me. I can't lie though, sometimes I have to wonder. See next time we went fishing, I wore my favorite little green "jumper" and he managed to put a hole right through the front of it with his hook. Hmmmmm?
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