The Year My Granddaughter Got Hooked on Fishing

If I stop and think about the past year, one moment rises above everything else—and it still puts a smile on my face every time I think about it. My 13-year-old granddaughter got absolutely hooked on fishing with me. And yes… that pun is 100% intended.

She called me constantly during the summer and fall this year:
“Beebop, can we go fishing today?”
Sometimes she called before I even finish my morning coffee. She even called me late Nov when the fishing stops around here because it’s too cold.

Now, you have to understand something. We’re not living out on a lake in Minnesota or in some little rural town with a bait shop on every corner. We live just outside Philadelphia PA USA the sixth-most populous city in the United States—about 1.9 million people in the metro area. Kids her age around here usually spend their free time with their faces buried in an iPhone, scrolling, swiping, texting, or hanging with friends.

So when a 13-year-old who involved with many sports, Scouts and other activities chooses to go sit quietly by the water with her grandfather? That’s not normal. That’s special.

And for me, it hits deeper than she knows.

I grew up fishing everyyear with my father. Those trips weren’t just about catching fish—half the time we didn’t catch anything anyway, and the other half my dad missed most of the fish. For a guy who carried more gadgets than James Bond and puffed on his pipe like he was solving a mystery, he was not the greatest fisherman. They were about being together. Standing side by side. Watching the bobber bounce gently with the current. Listening to him talk about life, work, the world… or sometimes saying nothing at all and just being out in nature with him.

Some of my clearest memories of him come from those early mornings. The smell of the water, the fresh air, and that pipe—or cigar—he called a “stogie” drifting around us. The sound of the tackle box opening. His patience. His calm. His quiet way of letting me feel like I was capable, even when I tangled the line for the third time in 10 minutes.

Those fishing trips shaped me more than I give them credit for. They taught me patience, observation, responsibility, and the ability to slow down in a fast world. And as I got older, those memories became even more valuable. They became part of my dad’s legacy to me.

So now, when my granddaughter stands next to me with a rod in her hand, I see more than a kid fishing.

I see my father’s hand on my shoulder from decades ago.
I see myself at her age, full of excitement every time the line jerked.
I see the passing of something meaningful from one generation to the next.

And maybe the best part?
She loves it. Really loves it. She’s not doing it to humor me. The girl is serious—she’s keeping track of her catches, learning knots, asking about lures, and giving me that look when I miss a bite. And just like her Beebop at her age, she tangles her line so often that I’ve started bringing a small fleet of extra poles. Every outing we seem to discover a brand-new “bird’s nest” — and I swear some of these knots belong in the Smithsonian. I’ll get one untangled, hand it back proudly… and two minutes later she’s invented another one. And she just shrugs and says, “Beebop… I don’t know what happened,” like the fishing rod suddenly acted on its own.

It’s wonderful in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived enough life to feel time moving a little faster each year. Watching her discover something that meant so much to me growing up—and still does—feels like a circle closing.

So yes, out of everything that’s happened this year, the brightest moment is standing next to a teenager who could be anywhere else in the world, but chooses to be with her Beebop… fishing.

Those early memories with my father shaped who I became.
And now, without even realizing it, she’s helping shape the memories I’ll carry the rest of my life.