Ponchos.

I bought my first fishing pole last night. And I had no idea what on earth I was doing. But I was determined. That's what I did know. I walked straight into Joe's, and promptly started walking along "the circuit" -- that tiled path that winds around the entire store, and eventually brings you back to the front check-out lines. I kept going, moving past clothes, kayaks, and tennis rackets. And then I found the fishing poles.

I've actually been fishing only once that I can really remember. My grandpa came to visit when I was about thirteen and thought it would be a lot of fun to go out deep sea fishing. And I thought, Eh, why not? Could be fun. So I borrowed a pole from my dad and went out on the boat. There were a few other people on the boat too -- and I think most of them were drinking beer and laughing and then tossing their lines back out into the water.

I threw my line out, and waited. And waited. And waited. And finally -- I felt a slight tug on my line. I nearly jumped up right then, not sure at all what to do. Grandpa came over and told me to just start reeling in the line. So I started reeling. And just when I thought my arm was going to fall off, a guy started shouting behind me.

I kind of turned around and saw this guy, reeling in on the exact opposite side of the boat. He had his face somewhat tilted toward me. "Stop reeling, kid!" I stopped. I was thirteen. Angering adults wasn't high on my list of fun things to do. The guy kept reeling in, and within a minute or so, he had a huge sturgeon sitting on his lap. He came over toward me then and said, "Hey, I think your line caught up on mine -- don't worry, kid. You'll get it sometime."

I shrugged. Sure. I might catch a fish sometime. I returned to my fishing pole and just waited. That's when I noticed the line was still pretty taut. And since that guy had just pulled up his line, I couldn't possibly have still been tangled up. What can it hurt? I started reeling again. And soon, I felt something tugging right on the end of the line. I kept reeling in, and soon there was a fish slapping along the side of the boat... and up... and then over the railing.

Grandpa took my picture holding the fish. I was so excited to finally catch one. Some deckhand guy came over then and weighed the slimy thing. "Hey, kid. It's too small. You gotta throw it back." He pointed a grubby thumb toward the water. With a slight bit of sadness, I tossed the fish back over and watched it escape into the blue.

And now, ten years later, I finally have my own fishing pole. And I'm not even using it for fishing. What am I using it for? Oh yeah, for Junior Church on Sunday. To teach the kids about Jesus and how He called people to be "fishers of men." Should be fun.

Until then -- S. Stevenson