We've had to explain to him that he can't just go up to our neighbors (we do live in Virginia, after all) and tell them they should be imprisoned for hunting animals. And that, after all, Chik-fil-A comes from … well. His response is a bit tortured. As he told me yesterday, “I need to make you understand me. It’s not the people who eat the animals who are bad and should go to jail. It’s the people who kill the animals for food and are violent to them that need to get locked up!”
So I'm not sure how fishing isn't violent, but it sure is an obsession, thanks to a wonderful trip to New Jersey and an adventure on Rainbow Lake with Uncle Bob, during which they each caught two fish. Egads!
When Cody came home, he was determined to master his new sport. First order of business was to fashion a fishing pole. Which he did, in the creative way that children have when left to their own devices and told "No, I won't buy you a fishing pole." He took a plastic peg from the horseshoe set and made a fishing line out of those tiny Rainbow Loom rubber bands (of which we have 10,000, and which the occupants of our house 50 years hence will still be finding between the floorboards). I thought it was kind of ingenious.
And he loved it, even though it didn't work. At all. We trekked to the lake and he "fished" while the girls and I ogled ducks and turtles and I tried to keep Emma from falling in the water. (I think actual fishing is predicated upon the idea of stillness and peacefulness, but whatever.)
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