Patience of a Saint

My earliest memory is fishing with grandpa. I don't think I was old enough to understand the concept, really, but he wanted to be the first to take me, so mom and dad agreed. He called at 5:00 a.m. to get me up and mom dragged me out of bed. I groggily ate my breakfast, and there he was with his fishing hat on, ready to get me. He spent the whole day putting worms on the hook for me, ducking out of the way as I tried to cast with the pole three times my size, and moving the boat from place to place to get me unsnagged. He didn't seem to care, though, he just chuckled and called me his little buddy all day long.