Truly A Man's Man

So I’m laying in my hammock on the lovely evening of October 16. There is really nothing remarkable about that opening statement. Well, maybe that I used the word “laying” instead of “sweating”, but actually the weather has been gorgeous for a few days in a row (knock on wood) at the time of this writing. Thus the suspended swinging that occupies about 80% of our time here as volunteers was especially pleasant on said evening. I was minding my business and reading a book about a Peace Corps Volunteer in China (because obviously the idea of living in an Asian country for 2 years is extremely alien to me). My entire family had disappeared to various unknown locations, and the rare pre-nocturne breeze was glorious.

Then a fish walked up to me.

Sounds like the beginning of a terrible joke. But it was all-too real, thankfully. I can only imagine I did an utterly ridiculous double take that would have made the makers of Scooby Doo proud. Even though I hate that show. But seriously, a fish about a foot in length had just entered my gate and was flopping/slithering/sliding across the gravel of my “yard” (it’s mainly gravel and stones, but details details). For a few seconds I just stared at it, than looked around nervously from side to side. Picture the sort of reaction you might have if you saw a five-dollar bill on the ground and expected somewhere just out of site there were three pre-teen boys with a piece of string tied to it… just waiting to rip it out from under your nose and guffaw loudly.

But since the fish continued its seizure-esque approach, I got up (a major commitment) from my perch and wandered over to him. He reminded me a bit of a catfish, and was propelling himself by thrashing his body from side to side. Each time one side out lash forward he would gain purchase on the ground with the appropriate frontal fin, and then throw the other side ahead. It was pretty slow going, and frankly looked exhausting. I could only imagine that he had been residing in the shallow canal in front of my house and had randomly decided it was time to go for a stroll at .00001 miles per hour on land. He paused by my foot, and when I poked him with a toe he jerked once more then lay still, gasping.

I think we would all agree there is only one logical response to this situation.

So I bent over and picked him up by his tail. He tried to jump away but… I mean, he was a fish out of water (HO HO HO!). After I had him aloft, I just stood there blinking like a moron. I guess I was still assuming someone was going to come claim their lost fish? Anyway, it didn’t seem to be happening, so I walked around the back of my house, filled a bucket half full of water, and plopped him in. It was then that reality suddenly struck me.

I am the greatest outdoorsman to ever live.

Everyday so many people all over our planet go out and work themselves ragged tilling, planting, harvesting, hunting, fishing, cultivating, etc for the purpose of getting food. I’ve seen my neighbors strip down to shorts and, with a large seine net stretched taut between them, wade waist deep through sludge to capture frogs and other water life. All of these people deserve commending that I have never earned and probably never will because of the privileged life I lead. And yet here I am, being a useless jackass in the middle of a quiet Cambodian afternoon, and a gift from the very bosom of Mother Nature just came moseying on up to me. I must say I’m a bit surprised he didn’t ask me if I’d “eaten rice yet”, or if I would teach English to him or someone he is related to. That’s what usually happens when someone enters my yard.

But really, the signs were clear: it was an undeniable testament to my prowess as a man of the wild. Through pure masculine hormones (some might say “musk”) I clearly drew this creature from the murky depths purely by force of presence. It leaving its aquatic territory and entering mine to lie subserviently at my feet was clear submission to my superiority. Thank you my finned-vassal, I gladly accept your delicious fealty.

Ultimately I gave it to my family. My youngest brother assumed I bought it and laughed when I huffily said I had caught it barehanded. Jerk. Still, I think I’m a shoe-in for Host Son of the Year Award. Yes, thank you, hear me roar.

I have a feeling this story seems rather pointless, and could well be boring. Because after all, the gist might to the untrained eye appear to be merely “an amphibious fish wandered into Colin’s yard and he actually had to haul himself upright to grab it and put it in a pail.” But really… well, there’s no but really except to say that yes, I’m awesome.

I suppose the moral is probably something like “Good Things Come to Those Who Wait”. Maybe “Even A Blind Squirrel Finds a Nut Once in a While”. Or perhaps even “Wow Colin, Get A Life.”

But personally I like “Fishing Rods Are For Suckers”.