As a little tyke, I fished with my dad and he would always bait my hook, Those worms were slimy, slick, and wiggly, and lots of fatherly skill it took. So, he baited up for me and I would swish my pole and sling out my bait, Then we’d sit in the boat, talk about stuff, and on the fish we would wait.

I would get a nibble and dad would say be patient before you give a jerk, Just at the right time he would say, “Now” and our system seemed to work. I would bring up a pretty, little blue gill perch no bigger than my smile, Then he would bait my hook again, we’d talk some more, and wait awhile. We would repeat that routine over and over, how many times I can’t count, We would always throw the fish back, but the excitement continued to mount. No matter how many we caught, it was always fun to be fishing with my dad, With two grandsons of my own, I understand the enthusiasm he always had.

I never owned a boat of my own, but we rented several on some lovely lakes, We took along several fishing poles, tackle boxes, and all the gear it takes. So, I learned well from my dad and baited the hooks for my grandsons too, Don’t know how many fish we caught, but guarantee it was more than a few.

The worms were slimy and wiggly, and I would always put bait on their hook, And passed along lessons learned about sitting still, and the patience it took. The boys caught fish and we created some of the greatest memories for a kid, It was a thrill for me, and I baited their hooks because that’s what my dad did. Dad has been gone now for how many years, I really haven’t stop to count, As I reflect on the memories we made, they have genuinely started to mount. Dad baited my hook with slimy, slick, wiggly worms, as I for my grandsons too, If he could bait my hook just one more time, it would be a wish come true.