I am half way through "The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt", by Edmund Morris. I had previously read "Theodore Rex", the second of the planned trilogy biography of Teddy Roosevelt, by Morris.
I have to say that reading about Teddy makes me feel inadequate. By 23 he had graduated from Harvard with academic honors, traveled Europe, the Middle East, written a book about naval warfare, two volumes of nature research, was an accomplished taxidermist, was listed on a registry of biologists, mastered several languages, been elected state assemblyman in NY state ... The list goes on and on.
One could say, well of course, people born to great wealth are free to do things mere working folks could never do. While this is true on one level, on another level it makes Mr. Roosevelts accomplishments more bewildering. If he had wanted to he could have never worked a day in his life. He had an income of over $8,000+ per year without working, which could have bought a life of relative lazieness, not to mention the kind of jobs his connections could have landed him. He wouldn't have been the first heir of a wealthy family to make nothing of his life.
I used to wonder why Roosevelt was on Mount Rushmore. I mean Lincoln, Washington, and Jefferson seem like obvious choices, but why Teddy. Well after reading a book and a half, I have changed my mind. He certainly seems like he belongs up there among his equals. Hard to imagine that people thought of him as an accidental president initially.
I wonder if someone like Teddy would be elected today. He had a poor speaking voice and was strange looking. He also liked to gallop through local Washington parks shooting at things and whooping. It would be hard to imagine that kind of behaviour happening today.
People: June 2003 Archives
I purchased a fishing rod and reel for my son last night. He is quite an avid fisherman, even though he is only 3 1/2. Up until this point we have used a section of one of my fishing poles, with a static piece of line for simplicities sake. This sort of replicates a cane pole experience. It's worked fine, but it is limited by not being able to get the bobber more than three feet from the dock. This weekend however we'll be able to fish more naturally with his new rod and reel.
He was thrilled to get his own rod and spent the day casting off the deck at home. He is still working on a fluid casting motion. At this point he prefers to pick up the dummy lure, which has no hooks, and throw it. Needless to say, that won't work so well with a real hook. He called me at work to warn me it was a little tangled up. I expected as much.
My grandfather and I spent many hours fishing in Central Wisconsin growing up. While he didn't teach me to fish, that I can remember, he spent more hours fishing with me that anyone else. When I visited him on Memorial Day 2003, we were able to get out and do some fishing, with Matthew as well. It was a real torch passing moment I thought. Grandpa was content to watch Matthew and not fish himself, but you could sense pride at being able to pass on a skill and an interest to the next generation.
This makes me think about my first experience fishing with Matthew.
It was last year when Matthew was 2 1/2. I had to go up to Lake Vermillion later than the rest of the party. When I got there Matthew was already fishing. I felt a little jealous. I hadn't realized it previously, but I had wanted to take Matthew fishing for the first time, and some other relatives had jumped in line ahead of me. Luckily for me, although not for Matthew, Matthew was unable to land any fish that weekened. Immediately, when we got home, the two of us headed out fishing.
We went fishing at Reschanau Lake near my house. I had scoped it out ahead of time. It had a nice fishing dock and the look of panfish. I knew the best fish to start out with would be eager panfish like bluegills or ugly bullheads. Each are easy to catch and in plentiful supply. I wanted our fishing expedition to be short but successfull. Then as skills and attention spans grow we could build on those early successes.
We headed out to the lake with our rods, fishing tackle, and the mis-guided notion that our activities would resemble a illustration out of Field and Stream magazine. Did I mention I was going fishing with a two year old?
Being misguided I had taken my own fishing rod and reel as well. Certainly, I could catch fish at the same time as Matthew. Obviously, I had never really thought through fishing with a two year old.
We walked out onto the rickety old dock and I baited Matthews hook and cast the bobber out. I handed the rod to Matthew.
Bang, the bobber dissapeared and he had a fish on. I helped him set the hook and we had a bluegill. Now is where it starts to get complicated. I need to extricate the fish from the hook, Matthew is excitedly waving the rod around, and the fish is flopping. I did my best to get the fish off the hook, while Matthew seized on the oppourtunity to investigate the tackle box and walk a little to close to the edge of the dock. Never mind the slight disobedience, it's celebration time. We vigorously celebrated capture and subsequent release of the fish. We re-baited the hook and cast the line out again.
Honestly, I have never felt quite as much pride in my son's accomplishment as I did at that moment. I had passed on a meaningful skill to the next generation, he had mastered a portion of that skill, and most importantly he was loving it. I felt pride at his walking, talking, jumping and other important milestones, but this was different. To some degree if he was raised by wolves he would probably learn to walk and jump. Fishing was different somehow, perhaps as it was migled with nostalgia from fishing with my grandfather, or perhaps because I was passing on a tangible part of my own passion for the outdoors. I don't know all the reasons why I felt so full of pride and emotion but it was a momentous occasion to me. I thought my heart would burst with pride and happieness.
Matthew gained some confidence at this point and decided sitting safely with his rod was not neccessary. I foolishly started to set up my line and bait my hook. This resulted in a round of "don't touch, please sit down, I'm going to count, your'e going to get a consequence ... " Arggh.
Then we caught another fish, almost as soon as I had cast my own line out. Matthew quickly caught another two fish in a row, managing to tangle my line, which had it's own fish on, in the process. By this time, his two-year old curiousity started working in over drive. If I could have seen the tought bubble over his head, I 'm sure thoughts like the following were going through his head.
- I wonder if dad's tackle box floats?
- Are these plastic worms edible?
- Why is dad so happy?
- It's funny to run with sharp hooks, while dad trys to snag his tackle box that is floating away.
- Why is dad bellowing?
- It's fun to whip this rod around. Why is dad cowering?
- I caught another fish, I'll try and get the hook out myself.
- I wonder what fish slime tastes like.
- Worms and the box they came in also float.
