by Pat Merewether

Created on: December 29, 2008

One night Dad packed up our '52 Plymouth with ice fishing rods, the kerosene lantern and the bait bucket and said to me, "Let's go fishing!" I was six years old and thought he was teasing. For one thing it was a week night and I never went anywhere on a school night! I'd remembered fishing from the previous summer, but now a foot of snow covered the ground and it was freezing! But I loved fishing with Dad, so I climbed into the passenger seat and wondered just how we were going to manage this adventure.

I held Dad's metal lunch box on my lap, which was a bit difficult after Mom had bundled me up to within an inch of my life. Three pair of mittens kept my fingers warm, but almost unbendable.

A bright full moon in a cloudless sky lit up the snowy countryside like a wintry movie scene. We stopped at a small store and Dad bought minnows for bait. I was fascinated by the small, silvery fish and wondered if I could put one in the bowl with my gold fish at home. So far my bait of choice had been worms. Dad said, 'Here, this is for you." and gave me the change from the purchase, a shiny dime which he tucked into my mitten. Wow! A whole dime! I thought about all the candy that much money could buy and my mouth watered as I felt the cool metal warmed against my fingers.

We arrived at the same lake where we'd fished that summer, but this time it was deserted, just Dad and his tiny over-wrapped daughter who stood stiff wrapped with wool and excitement. Dad pulled my wooden sled from the trunk of the car and piled the gear onto it, then and sat me on top like a Christmas tree topper. We must have made an interesting sight sillouhetted against the snow drifts, but nobody was there to see us. We didn't need our flashlight as the full bluish moon lit up the night with a fluorescent glow. As Dad crunched ahead, pulling the sled, I amused myself pretending I was a movie star on a holiday float in the Macy's parade that I'd just seen on TV. For extra drama I blew out large puffs of air that looked like smoke and nodded to the nonexistent crowd. Back then it was almost patriotic to smoke, so it was a good thing.

After a couple of minutes, I saw the shanties in the distance. It was amazing how a whole little town sprang up as soon as the ice was deemed safe. Since no one else was there it looked like an eerie ghost town. When we reached our shanty, one that Dad said belonged to his friend "Pee Wee" at work, he opened the door and lit the lantern. I stepped inside and sat at the end

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