Fishing with the grandkids? Get ready for a trip

They call me Big Daddy. My twin grandsons, that is, and I treasure that name. Grandparents-to-be will eventually discover that whatever word or garbled sound assigned to you by your first grand-child will become the most important description of your being for the rest of your life. And when grandsons come to town, no matter what they call you, it's time to go fishing.

For us, the first stop is Big Daddy's garden where Ben, Brendan and I zero in on some juicy earthworms.

Worms are easy to dig this time of year. The ground is wet and cool and all the worms are close to the surface. Within fifteen minutes, my two young companions and I had enough worms in our worm jug to last for several trips and enough dirt under our fingernails to last till the first of June.

Taking young grandsons fishing means you need a Ryder truck or its equivalent to stash all the related gear. Not only are the fishing poles, tackle boxes, worm jugs, stringers, bobbers and mis-cellaneous tackle required, but also a cooler full of Juicy Juice, peanut butter and jelly sand-wiches, celery sticks, neatly-sectioned orange slices, two apples, Oreo cookies, wet paper towels, and enough outer wear to keep an Eskimo family warm in January. And a complete change of clothes -- just in case.

The most difficult part about taking kids anywhere these days is figuring out how to strap the squirming youngsters in these new-fangled car seats. There was no such thing as car seats when I was a boy. In the old days, folks figured that if you were driving around with a bunch of kids in the car, just don't wreck. It worked for me.

Whoever designed these car seats should be strapped in a chair and tortured with accordion music. The contraptions are always wider at the base than the space allowed for the seat belts. Houdini himself would be helpless if he had to buckle up one of his kids. I'm no Houdini and I had two kids to secure somehow. I asked my wife if I couldn't just strap them to the roof rack, after all it was only a few miles to the pond, but she wouldn't let me. (I wouldn't have done it anyway. I didn't have any bungee cords that long.) But somehow, after much muttering under the breath, the seat belts and car seats were secured and we were on our way.

Arriving at the pond, the boys were rightly concerned about a pair of 20-pound geese, which had claimed squatter's rights along the "west bank." We decided to let the geese have that territory and fished the other side of the pond. It was a land-for-peace deal.

For those who have never fished with a pair of young boys, this is what you might expect.

First, wherever you decide to fish is the last place they will want to be. That will become only the starting point for their non-stop journey. Lewis and Clark probably started their travels as young fishermen seeking to escape their grandfather and ended up in Oregon.

Second, if there is water around, kids will find a way to get wet. Count on it. Farm pond water is like a magnet for children. Within no more than 20 minutes, they will be wet at least to their ankles and sometimes to their elbows. That's why at least one change of clothes is a top priority.

Finally, if there is something that can be picked up and physically removed from its former position by a young boy, it will get thrown in the water.

"Boys, if you throw that log in the water, it will scare the fish and then they won't bite," I reminded them.

"Okay, Big Daddy," they replied.

Ker-plush!!

Did we catch any fish, you ask?

You know, it really doesn't matter. What matters is that we had a great time together. Fish-ing isn't so much about fish. It's about people. And coffee cans and Oreo cookies. It's about being outside on a pretty April day and spending a little time with those who call you Big Daddy.