Dad Knows I Can.

I remember the day my Dad taught me how to fish.

I was small.  Don’t ask me how old I was exactly (I was somewhere between Polly Pockets and Barbies.)  It was the biggest deal in the world when Dad took me out on a canoe and taught me how to fish.

He always hooked the worms for me and I just squirmed before tossing the line into the great big lake.

Until, one day, he told me to hook the worm for myself.  I shook my head at first; but dad told me he knew that I could do it.  So I put on my big girl face and I did it.  We all ate trout for dinner that night.

Now my dad is teaching me other things.

Like.

Driving a standard.  This is no easy task (for dad or for me.)  There was one moment when I wondered what that burning smell was and then realized it was the clutch on my dad’s car (note to self: you shouldn’t start off on third gear.)  Sigh.  Poor dad.

(Poor dad’s car.)

But he’s ever so patient.  My dad.  Even when I see that slight grimace on his face (he is human, after all,) I know that he will take me out once again tomorrow.  And even though hooking a worm and driving a standard makes me quiver with fear, I do it anyways.

Because Dad knows I can.

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