I remember that old garage, covered in granite tar paper. A little farther to the left was a basketball hoop with a cracked-in-every-direction double parking space beneath it. There was only one place I could dribble the ball that would force it to predictably come straight back up to my hand. Anywhere else, and I would be chasing it down the half-mile long driveway or, following it down a hill or, hoping the glass didn't break on the kitchen windows behind me. I did manage to break the glass windows in the garage though.

This particular summer day, there was no playing basketball. There was no wrestling practice or baseball. School had just gotten out and in my dad's eyes, that meant time for him and his boys to do more fishing. My dad, you see, was (and still is) all about fishing, hunting, trapping, anything you can think of - outdoorsy. Maybe it's a heritage thing, we are Native after all. But, it was ingrained into me since I can remember. In fact, one of my earliest memories is of fishing.

I was three years old and could actually handle a rod and reel myself. Putting the minnows on the hook was an entirely different story. I couldn't keep the little buggers still long enough to slide it through their mouths and into their backs. I did like playing with the minnows though!

I had just got 'cleaned' and Pops asked me to go to the car and grab another minnow. It was about 15 little 3 year old paces behind us from the bank of the lake we were sitting on that morning. I don't remember the exact time of year, but we did live down south and I remember having pants on, so it had to have been early spring or late fall.

The minnow bucket was in the back 'hutch' - I guess - not sure what you call that. If anyone had an old 1967 Volkswagon Super Beetle, then you know what I mean behind the back seat there. That little storage compartment, but not quite an actual hatchback trunk thing. Was a favorite place of mine to take naps LOL! Anyway, I was reaching over the back seat, catching the only fish I remember that day, popping the eyes out of the minnows to find the crystal balls when all of a sudden WHaZOT!

I got hit in the left ear by a bumblebee.

This freaked my dad out because he was highly allergic to bee stings. He didn't care that I'd killed half of the minnows and rushed me over to the clinic about a mile away on the base. They said I was fine, pulled out the stinger and gave me a lollipop. An orange one with a paper hoop and big 'S' on it. Then we went back to get our poles, still sitting on the bank and lo and behold, there was a giant catfish ringing the bell and waiting on my dad's line. He forgot all about the minnows.

We lived up the hill in front of my grandparents on Little Wolf Lake. (It's in Minnesota, on the Leech Lake Reservation) We had a dock jutting out into the water and both families shared it. This day, my aunt Jackie and cousin Tommy joined us in the boat. It was my grandpa, my pops, my aunt and me and my cousin Tommy. He prefers 'Tom' now, but back then it was always Tommy.

We were trolling slowly around the sand bar in front of Little Wolf Lake Resort. My cousin was all but asleep and my aunt was looking more at the seagulls and smiling than anything. My grandpa was steering the boat holding his pole, my dad was facing toward the open part of the lake with his and I was facing the bank in the front of the 16 foot Lund where the anchor could be dropped. That was my job. I got real good at timing anchor placements. Today was not one of those days.

No. Today was a day where I got snagged.

"Dad, I'm stuck!"

I handed him my pole.

He reeled it in slightly and gave it a big pull to try and free it from the weeds. Then a huge smile grew on his face as he handed it back.

"You're not stuck, you've got big ol' fish on there. REEL IT IN!"

As I commenced to a frantic reeling-of-the-bulls, my grandfather cut the engine and my pops grabbed the green (nylon?) landing net. The big one. The one I could actually fit in and pretend I was a giant fish. My cousin woke up and hustled to the side behind my grandpa so he could see it. My aunt started clapping and got all giddy. "Yay Justin! Reel it in!" I remember her saying.

So I did.

It was tough. Once the engine was cut, the fish had more leeway and wasn't just trying to stay in the weed bed. It pulled the boat in a few different directions before it was tired enough for my often screeching little 202 Zebco to reel it in far enough to take a swipe at it with the net. Then off it went. Two more times before I was finally able to see the beast myself and I froze.

It was as big as me! Luckily, I had it in far enough to where my Pops could snatch it up in the net this time. We went straight home after that with four walleye and a mess of bluegills. My dad made me carry it up the quarter mile hill and back the other 500 yards to the garage. But, I didn't care or feel the strain. My heart was still pumping blood through me on overtime. Because, if you look at the smile on my face up there? Ya, it is telling. That was the day that I, became a fisherman.