On Becoming a Man

For a good portion of my close to 40 years of life, I have found myself wondering when I would become a man, in my own mind's eyes. Mind you, I have had events in my life that are traditionally associated with rites of passage, that lead a boy into manhood. I was confirmed and joined my church, with all the rights and privileges and responsibilities that accompany such events. I graduated from high school, and went off to college, a half a country a way, in one of the biggest cities the US has to offer. I fell in love, fell out of love, and back into love again (some would argue more than once). I graduated college, got a job, then entered seminary after hearing God's call for my life. I began serving a church. I married. I followed God's call to another church. I had a child. I again followed God's call to another church. I had another child. And another. And another. I serve on a Board of Directors and am asked to speak to various faith-based and civic groups on a variety of topics. I am a respected (somewhat, hopefully) and useful (again, somewhat, hopefully) member of my community and society in general. Heck, I don't even get ID'd if I try to buy a beer in a restaurant anymore.

As I now approach 40 years old later this year, surely my life experiences determine that I am officially a man...no? And yet, so often I still wonder when it will happen. When will I wake up and see myself as more than just an overgrown kid?

I can tell you, that I never imagined it would happen while wearing a pair of fishing waders, standing in the pouring rain.

But it did. As clearly in my mind as if I had received a telegram informing me of the news. I knew I had become a man.

This past weekend I had the joy of sharing some time with my Dad, as I accompanied him on his annual spring fishing safari with the other members of the New England Outdoor Writers' Association. After a 5 hour ride up to Lake Bomoseen in western Vermont, we unpacked our gear, connected with old friends, checked in at the local tackle shop, and made our plans for the next morning. A good dinner, some good conversation, and some good sleep had me ready the next morning for some good fishing. Unfortunately, Mother Nature wasn't keen on cooperating.

A steady rain and an even steadier wind made it clear to us that we would not be heading out onto the lake anytime soon. So, a quick change of plans had us grabbing our fly fishing gear, stepping into waders up to our chests, and piling into Dad's Kia (which sprung a massive powersteering fluid leak...another story for another time). Following some solid information, we went to "the place" to fish on the Castleton River, where big brown trout lurk, just waiting to be caught by eager, and worthy anglers like us.

In the old days, when I was a boy, my Dad would give me a quick refresher course, some advice on the conditions, offer help on what fly to tie on (and offer to tie it on for me), and then point me to the best hole. But Saturday, it was evident right away that Dad was a bit resigned. At first I thought it was the weather, but then realized it wasn't. It was the bank of the river. Covered in loose pieces of slate, just waiting to twist a knee or an ankle, and at an angle of descent that required Billy goat-like balance. The type of river bank I had seen my Dad bound up and down for most of my life. Not anymore. Dad's bad ankle, and 70 year old body just can't do it anymore. We searched through the woods for an easier way to the big holes right below us, but none were found. In the end, I scrambled down for a cast or two while Dad stood at the top of the bank, watching in the rain.

We tried another spot on the river or two. But the same problem was encountered at each location. The bank was too steep, or the undergrowth too thick for Dad to consider conquering. At about 2:00pm, we called it quits and headed back to the resort. While undressing out of my World War II-era waders, I commented that it was time for a new pair, as these were leaking through. My Dad gently commented that I could have his newer pair of LL Bean's, which he had won in a raffle just the year before, as he was pretty sure his days of fishing the big waters were over.

And that was it. I'm not sure why it took my Dad's deteriorating to convince me that I am now a man. But it did. I always knew becoming a man would be a difficult thing in the end. But I had no idea just how difficult.

Norman Maclean, in his amazing book A River Runs Through It (nothing like the movie), writes, "I am haunted by waters". I believe this is my fate as well, and ultimately, the price of my becoming a man.