Infringing on the golden years: ruining my parents fishing trip

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Meet my parents – Reuben and Mary Ann Chrestman (Reuby Ann).  Both are 70 years young.  They are in their blissful golden years, where every second matters, and quality time with one another is among one of life’s most precious things.

Their latest attempt at quality time was a one-day fishing trip. Reuby Ann was to charter a boat with the same fishing guide we have used for over twenty-five years.  (For you grammarians out there, “Reuby Ann” is a singular person, like “Brangelina” or “Bennifer”). Mary Ann had never been out with this guide before, and it was an early birthday present for Reuben who will reach his 71st year this month. It was going to be so perfect: A nice, quiet Monday surrounded by the picturesque marshes of south Louisiana, where they would take in the scenery, catch some fish and quietly enjoy each other’s company.

But it was not to be.  Their hopes and dreams came crashing down when I – their youngest child – caught wind of the trip and decided to invite myself to tag along.  It was like a perfect train wreck.   A toddler that ruins a rare date night for an exhausted mom and dad.  Except I’m not a toddler, at least not physically.

Once Reuben accepted the fact that an uninvited third party would be tagging along, the planning began in earnest.

Reuby Ann likes to plan.  And Reuben, despite being a highly intelligent and respected physician, struggles with the simple things.  For Reuben, making dinner reservations is like planning the Normandy invasion.  Dealing with parking more than one block from his destination like splitting the atom.

So, having to deal with an uninvited third party on his fishing trip became very overwhelming. His frustration was palpable.

For a trip planned for a Monday, I received a somewhat frantic phone call from Reuben the preceding Friday who was clearly stressing out over Monday’s menu:

Dad: Mom is going to make some PB&Js for the trip Monday, do you want some?

Me: Is water wet?  Of course I want some PB&Js

Dad: Okay, mom will fix you two PB&Js.

Me: Two?  What is this, communist China?

Dad: It’s cost containment, ass hole.  [CLICK]

And so it began.

After a busy weekend of “festivaling” and children’s birthday parties, Monday morning arrived.  The place we would launch from, according to Google maps, was one hour and seven minutes away.  According to “Reuble maps,” however, it was an hour and forty-five minutes.  I would not fight that battle as there would soon be ample opportunities to argue with and annoy Reuben throughout the course of the day. So 5:45 am was the reluctantly-agreed-upon pick up time.

By the time Reuby Ann arrived, the caffeine was already coursing through my veins.  As I stepped into my chariot, I couldn’t help but notice that there were two fishing poles taking up an inordinate amount of space in the car.  I thought this was odd since we were chartering a boat with all equipment supplied. “What’s with the two poles,” I asked.

“One for me, one for mom,” Reuben replied.  “You’re on your own.”

The subsequent one hour and seven minute ride was nothing if not eventful. During the first few minutes, I was peppered with questions from Mary Ann.  Besides being a highly-inquisitive person, she has trouble hearing. Reuben’s official diagnosis for her is “CHS,” which is the medical acronym for “can’t hear shit.”

Thus, her “curiosity” paired with an inability to hear, sprinkled with a stubborn and consistent refusal to wear her hearing aids was a recipe for numerous questions.  Her questions ran the gamut from detailed interrogations about the goings-on of my weekend, to pontifications on how much of a genius she thinks my two-year-old daughter is to condescending remarks about my wardrobe choice that particular day.

In between each question Mary Ann asked, one could hear Reuben keeping tabs by quietly counting each one  Invariably, the little bugger does not hear my initial answer.  And each “what”  was included in Reuben’s count:

Mom: So did ya’ll have fun this weekend? What did ya’ll do?

[Dad: one, two]

Me: We did.  Had a few birthday parties to go to.

Mom: What?

[Dad: three]

Me: BIRTHDAY PARTIES.  THAT’S WHAT WE DID.  WE HAD FUN.

You get the picture. Mary Ann’s direct examination was no more than three to five minutes, but the final count came to 18 questions total.  She has some skills.

We then proceeded to cover a range of issues and solve many of the world’s problems, including my wife Sarah’s car troubles:

Me: Sarah’s car battery is dead

Dad: Are you going to call AAA?

Me: Probably so

Mom: She will probably need a new battery

Dad: Thank you, Mary Ann Mechanic, for your diagnosis

Me: Yeah, thanks for weighing in on that, mom, I didn’t know you dabbled in auto repair

Dad: She dabbles in just about fucking everything

There was a discussion of wardrobe, specifically, the stylish hat my mom brought and Reuben opining that she had emphasized form over function (something she is often wont to do):

Dad (to mom): That hat is not going to do shit to keep the sun out of your eyes

Mom: It has a big bill

Dad: Well, Andy has a big nose, and that hasn’t helped him

We addressed politics:

Me: Are ya’ll going to watch the presidential debate tonight?

Mom: [rare silence caused by not hearing the question]

Dad: There isn’t enough alcohol in the state of Louisiana to get me to watch that shit

After touching on auto repair, sartorial choices and politics, we arrived at our destination.  Reuble maps grossly overestimated the time it would take to get there, and we arrived several minutes early, even before our fishing guide – the famed Nash Roberts, IV. (If you’re in south Louisiana and want to go fishing, do yourself a favor and go with Nash.  Just do it).

I was approximately 10 years old when we first went out with Nash, and we have been fishing with him ever since.  According to Reuben, however, there was a bit of a hiatus after the first excursion because “Nash had to have four years of therapy after being exposed to you.”

We are experiencing an unusually hot fall down here in south Louisiana, so we had to keep the trip short because Reuby Ann, having had several birthdays, are particularly susceptible to the heat.  The trip, as a result, only lasted about four hours. But those four hours were precious.

My time was divided between catching fish of a size and quality far exceeding the ones caught by Reuben and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches made with a mother’s love.

Mary Ann’s time involved catching a handful of brag-worthy fish and refusing to be photographed due to the outfit that, in her opinion, made her “look like a boy.”  Although notoriously wary of being on video, Reuby Ann was good enough to offer some harmless shit-talking:

 

Reuben’s time was spent catching tiny fish, the majority of which had to be returned to the water, which is arguably more insulting than catching no fish at all.  For me, it provided ample opportunities for comedy:

Nash:  [attempting to make Reuben feel better about his tiny fish] I wish that had about five more inches

Me: That’s what Sarah tells me all the time

Dad: I could have gone the rest of the day without hearing that shit

Mom: I thought I raised you better than that

Naturally, Reuben’s frustration with me grew as the day wore on.  I spent the majority of boat rides from fishing hole to fishing hole sitting next to Mary Ann, but then decided to mix it up and grace Reuben with my presence:

Dad: [7/10 of a second after I sat next to him] Go sit next to mom

Me: I think she’s had enough of me

Dad: She’s had enough of you, I’ve had enough of you, even Nash has had enough of you. [turning to Nash] Is there an island nearby where we can just leave him?

After avoiding being left for dead on an island marsh, the day concluded and we headed home for the day. When asked if they were glad that I invited myself, Mary Ann admitted that she did enjoy my company.  But what of Reuben’s review of my presence?

“No, I’m not glad,” he said.  “You raised the serum jack ass level.”

The elderly are, in many ways, like children.  As they age, they become more dependent on others for survival; they have no appreciation or understanding of the comedy inherent in some of the outlandish things they say and do; and occasionally, they shit themselves.

Time with Reuby Ann is time cherished.  And if crashing their fishing trip was wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

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2 Responses to Infringing on the golden years: ruining my parents fishing trip

  1. Pat sharpe says:

    Love this and it makes me think more positively about my own family dynamics.

    • Andy Chrestman says:

      Thanks, Pat! We seem to have a unique way of showing affection for one another, and I think most families do. Thanks for reading.

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