Happy Father's Day

 My dad has been one of my biggest supporters, including cheering me on through this whole writing journey.

Father's Day seemed like the perfect time to share this poem, which grew out of memories of our deep-sea fishing trips years ago.
Some memories never really drift away.

Deep Sea Fishing With My Dad

Family vacation— but this part? Always just me and Dad.

Mom and my brother were invited, but they always passed. I didn’t mind. It meant I had him all to myself.

We’d wake before sunrise, moving quiet through the beach house while everyone else slept. The air outside was cool, carrying that sharp salt smell that whispered, adventure’s waiting.

Down at the dock, the boat sat ready.

The engine coughed to life, sending ripples across water still half-asleep. Seagulls circled, loud and greedy, like they knew what we were after.

The sun crept up slow— gold spilling across the waves like someone tipped a paint can. We headed toward “the perfect spot”— because, of course, the guide always knew.

We baited our hooks, hands slick with squid, dropped our lines, and waited— listening to water slap the side of the gently bobbing boat, feeling the sun warm our backs, hoping for that sudden pull that meant we had something.

Sometimes we did. Sometimes we didn’t. Didn’t matter.

Because those mornings? They were already perfect. Just me and Dad. Nothing else needed.

From Laugh. Sigh. Grit Teeth. Write About It.