From the corner of my eye I saw the end of myfishing pole bob once. Turning, I saw the wobble stop. I thought my mindhad started playing tricks on me. After sitting in the heat with mygrandpa for hours, I hadn't caught much more than ultraviolet rays.

The pole bobbed again, more emphatically than before. I bouncedto my feet with the pole in my hands, the clicker off, ready to yankbefore the pole stopped vibrating. My grandfather told me to wait untilthe fish took it, but I couldn't wait. I needed to yank that fish out ofthe water, and it didn't matter if I pulled the bones from ittrying.

I felt the fish pull the line again and prepared to yank.My grandpa told me again to wait. The fish took the bait, and he said topull. I jerked the rod back with all my power. I felt the fish on theline and began to reel frantically, not wanting to lose it. I pulled thefish up along the shore and Grandpa lifted it into the sky. I was proudof the four-pound fish I caught, though it didn't break any records.Even so, my grandpa held the fish up like it was a feast for a king.Looking back, I know that fish meant about as much to him as the worm weused for bait. My grandpa held the lake record for a long time with a 511/2-pound flathead. After catching a fish that size, my grandpa probablyfound it difficult to think much of the four-pounder Icaught.

When I think about those days, I regret not spending moreof them with my grandpa. I grew up and found hobbies without him that Ipreferred. He spent more time with his younger grandchildren, and wegrew apart.

I learned more about my grandpa and disagreed withsome of the things he'd done in his life. Learning that the people welook up to as young children aren't perfect is difficult. I discoveredmy grandpa had an alcohol problem and a smoking addiction. He woulddrink a 12-pack a day while fishing, which was virtually all the time. Ifound out about the man he was before he became my grandfather; I heardstories I never really wanted to.

Doctors diagnosed my grandpawith colon cancer and he went through chemotherapy. I didn't talk to himabout it often (though I felt terrible); we lacked the bond we used tohave. I'd ask him how he felt, but we never really connected. Hesurvived the cancer and is fine now, except for the same hyperactivethyroid problem I went through a year ago. We discussed how lousy itmakes a person feel; I enjoyed chatting with him.

There is stillfriendship between me and my grandpa, and I love him, but the bond wehad years ago eroded as we both grew older. I find it difficult toimagine regaining that friendship, but maybe someday we will.