Fishing with my uncle in the beginning was fun, feeling the hit on the line, landing the creature, then releasing it. Then one day, he said he would teach me how to clean fish. When I saw the eyes pleading with me, gills gasping to breathe right before he gutted it, I didn’t want to fish again and made excuses for the rest of the summer.
The following December 24th, when I wondered what my parents had gotten me for Christmas, I had a cold shower realization. They had wasted good money on a fishing rod I would never use. The road to miscommunication is paved with good intentions.