Quality Memories > Quantity (or Even Quality) of Catch. RIP, Pop Pop. We’ll Fish Together Again in Heaven One Day.
Quality Memories > Quantity (or Even Quality) of Catch. RIP, Pop Pop. We’ll Fish Together Again in Heaven One Day.
Posted by nerdyrednek
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nerdyrednek on
This feels rather vain since I don’t even have a Facebook account anymore, but I’ve been up since early AM and I guess I need to rope internet strangers into my coping mechanisms (sorry y’all…). This was a candid shot my wife took of my grandfather (aka Pop Pop), my dad, myself, and my oldest son a few years back. It was the last time Pop Pop was able to surf fish with us all, and even though he could hardly walk or cast that ancient rod of his, he still caught more than everyone else that day (all pin fish but hey, it counts). He was the original, self-taught surf fisherman in our family and is ultimately responsible for all of our subsequent addictions to the sand. He passed away early this morning, but the lessons he taught and love he showed will live on for generations. Anytime I get frustrated with an “unsuccessful” outing, I look back on this photo and remember why I fell in love with this sport and the outdoors in the first place: because he took the time to teach and create memories with my dad, me, and even his great-grandchildren. Remember, y’all, this is what matters the most in this, or any sport. This is what will be remembered long after we’re gone, not what we caught or its size.
I love you, Pop Pop. You will be sorely missed. Thank you for the many years of love and fun. I look forward to fishing with you again one day, and thereafter.
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This feels rather vain since I don’t even have a Facebook account anymore, but I’ve been up since early AM and I guess I need to rope internet strangers into my coping mechanisms (sorry y’all…). This was a candid shot my wife took of my grandfather (aka Pop Pop), my dad, myself, and my oldest son a few years back. It was the last time Pop Pop was able to surf fish with us all, and even though he could hardly walk or cast that ancient rod of his, he still caught more than everyone else that day (all pin fish but hey, it counts). He was the original, self-taught surf fisherman in our family and is ultimately responsible for all of our subsequent addictions to the sand. He passed away early this morning, but the lessons he taught and love he showed will live on for generations. Anytime I get frustrated with an “unsuccessful” outing, I look back on this photo and remember why I fell in love with this sport and the outdoors in the first place: because he took the time to teach and create memories with my dad, me, and even his great-grandchildren. Remember, y’all, this is what matters the most in this, or any sport. This is what will be remembered long after we’re gone, not what we caught or its size.
I love you, Pop Pop. You will be sorely missed. Thank you for the many years of love and fun. I look forward to fishing with you again one day, and thereafter.