My Pop was born in Texas in the year 1938. He was a first generation born in The USA of Mexican parents. He was the only son of six children.
He never talked about his childhood to me. I never heard him speak Spanish. He didn’t pass down any family traditions. I don’t know why he didn’t pass down anything of his Mexican heritage to me. I never asked and he never offered.
My parents divorced when I was five years old. I don’t remember much of them together. He was a kind and gentle man. At least, to me he was. He did leave me with memories that I often revisit.
He would take me fishing when I was little. I remember going to the bait shop with him and looking at all the minnows of different sizes. He would buy minnows and a container of worms.
We would be on our way to the lake and I always enjoyed the ride. One thing that I loved to do was play with the worms. I would dig them up and watch them wiggle down in the dirt. I was easily amused and I still am.
We would arrive at the fishing spot and gather everything up and walk to the spot where the fishing adventure would take place. I was never allowed to put the minnows on the hook. The worms were mine to hook.
I, of course, on those days stopped fishing way before Pop did. I never asked him when we were going home. I would just sit and eat my snacks and drink my coke. I enjoyed just sitting and watching him fish.
I don’t remember catching any fish. I don’t remember a fish fry. But, I didn’t go for the fish, I went to be with my Pop.