Family Men

Man of the sea


 

 

I come from a long line of stubborn Picarella men. If we craft an argument (and it’s most definitely a form of craftsmanship), then we can’t back down whether we’re right or . . . .

We’re right, so we’ll leave it at that.

It all began one sunny afternoon when a friend asked, “Have you taken your son fishing yet?”

“No,” I answered. “But I should. He’s already 11.”

My wife overheard the conversation and said to me, “You don’t even fish.”

Before I go any further, let me provide the facts—I love my wife. We’ve been married almost 15 years. We write each other love letters, we’re there for each other in hard times and we have the best of times when we’re together.

But she was making it sound like I’m no fisherman.

“I went fishing all the time before I met you,” I said.

I meant it as a compliment—I was saying that my passion for her is so great that I didn’t need anything else in life once she came along.

Of course, she took it as a dig, like I was blaming her for depriving me of my recreational activities.

“We Picarellas come from a long line of Sicilian fishermen,” I told my wife to prove that I’m a man of the sea. “You know the name Picarella means ‘king of the little fisher boat,’ right?”

“You’re no king of any boat,” she said. “You get seasick.”

“What? I love boats,” I said.

It’s true. When I was a kid, my dad took the family out on a rowboat. And even though a motorboat’s wake pushed us into a buoy line and we got stuck and my mom’s oar disturbed a beehive on that buoy line and bees attacked us, that didn’t keep me from loving boats—or keep my dad from renting a motorboat the next year.

And I would’ve caught fish on that glorious motorboat ride if my dad would’ve stopped the boat, but we only had the rental for an hour and he wanted to get the most out of the motor since it cost more than a set of oars.

“Even if you did love boats,” my wife said, “you hate fish.”

“That’s beside the point,” I replied. “Actually, I happen to like fish . . . if I catch the fish.”

It’s true. When I was a kid, my uncle took me and my brother fishing all the time, and we caught fish and my mom cooked it and I loved it, although I know now that my mom tossed our fish and passed off some stuff from the store as our catches of the day. But I enjoyed it.

I was digging myself a big hole. I wasn’t going to convince my wife that I eat fish. I spent our entire marriage telling her how much I hate all seafood.

Really, I don’t even think I enjoy the act of fishing. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if there weren’t so much sitting around and doing nothing, but I wasn’t going to tell my wife that.

“Fishing to me,” I said, “isn’t so much about catching the fish as it is about the peace and tranquility of the activity.”

She wasn’t buying it. And I couldn’t keep trying to peddle it. The bottom line: I hate seafood— the taste and the smell. I hate being out at sea—it’s true that I get horribly seasick; I got it bad on a catamaran over the summer.

And fishing—I agree with comedian Steven Wright when he said there’s a fine line between fishing and just standing on the shore like an idiot.

Yet I like the idea of the sea. I like that my ancestors come from the sea. I enjoy stories about wooden ships and iron men—in books about ocean life like “The Old Man and the Sea” by Ernest Hemingway, in movies about seafarers like “The Breaking Point” with John Garfield.

And who doesn’t like pirate tales?

My son is 11 years old and he knows very little about the ocean. I wanted to change that.

So maybe I wasn’t being a stubborn Picarella after all. Maybe I was arguing with my wife about fishing and the sea for good reason.

“The sea,” I told her in my most expressive tone, “is both companion and adversary. It’s a setting for exploration and for war. And it’s decided—I’m taking our son to see.”

“To sea?”

“No,” I said, “to see. We’re off to the bookstore for some books on the sea. Then you’ll both see.”

On the way out, in true Picarella fashion, I told my wife, “See, this is what I meant all along.”

Email Michael Picarella at michael.picarella@gmail.com. To read more of his stories, pick up his new book, “Everything Ever After,” at www.MichaelPicarella.com.


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