In Which the Fisherman Takes His Pride and Joy Out On the Boat, and Said Pride Gets Seasick

My husband is an outdoorsy kind of guy. He loves to fish and hunt, and will do so every chance he gets. But he's also a great dad, despite my complaining on this blog. And he's been waiting a long time until he felt our son was ready to go fishing in a real boat.

We've been married 10 years, and I don't think a week  has gone by since that time that my husband has wished for a boat. About a year ago, he finally bought a used one we could afford. He worked on it every night he could to make sure it was shipshape for his family. He would take our son out fishing on the shore to teach him and prepare him for the day we finally would go out on the ocean.

We went out last week for the first time together. My husband was so excited. He spent the night before packing and unpacking and rearranging the tackle box he would take on the boat with his son, his pride and joy. He carefully selected four fishing rods from his cache -- yes, four, because you can't go with just one each -- for him and the child to use. He packed fresh sandwiches, water, soda, chips and ice in a cooler and put it in the boat himself. We were ready for a long excursion that day.

The ocean was calm when we set out. Hardly any waves at all. We saw sea turtles swimming along, and dolphins in the distance. It was going to be a great day.

And then, 20 minutes into the day, it happened.

"Mom, I don't feel well," the 7-year-old whined.

"What's the matter?" I asked the child who loves roller coasters and spinning rides at the carnival without so much as a tummy ache.

"I don't know. My stomach hurts. Can we go home?" he whined again.

I glanced at my husband, who looked crushed. All his dreams of going boating and fishing with his son were going away. It was sad to see.

I tried to get the child to reconsider. "Maybe you just need to sit down instead of bouncing around," I suggested.

He did, but five minutes later, it was back to the now-familiar whines and threats of throwing up that morning's breakfast.

Our day out was over just like that. My husband said nothing, just turned the boat around as the child curled in my lap and just whimpered.

He was fine as soon as we got back on land, laughing and giggling as usual. My husband, however, was not. He was strangely quiet when we got home and he put his fishing gear away.

"Maybe we ought to sell the boat," he said quietly that night after the child went to bed.

I told him to hold off on doing anything drastic just yet. Maybe we'll take it a little slower next time. And maybe someday, when my son is a little older and has logged a few more sea miles, father and son will be able to sit in a boat together and fish.

OK, so I'm secretly hoping. Because then I'd be off the hook for the day, and I can send them both out for a little day off by myself.