This is why...

That'll do it nicely.

Sorry my dad is gone and can't see this on this cool crisp morning Father's Day morning.  Breakfast smells. Coffee brewing. The big center table at the Coronet cafe in town with hash browns and whopper omelets.

Kids being kids. Adults thrilled for the opportunity.

My dad was a swell fisherman, trout rod always in the trunk of the car, wader's in a duffel, wax for the line in the glove compartment so it would always be warm and not brittle to dressing the line. Coachman artificial flies fresh off the vise, tied by hand with utmost car least the trout figure out the ruse.

Our grand kids have finally tumbled to the idea of fishing poles and fish, not that any of them would have the slightest idea what to do with one.  I told the oldest this morning (fishing without a hook by the way) that if she caught one, it had to go back and be with family...it might be a father.

She mulled that over for a bit. Didn't really take that bait.  Always another day.