I might not remember them all, but I remember most of the outings my brother, Bruce, and I made with our father. I remember the sacrifices dad made to teach us how to hunt and fish and how to respect the resources that provided our fish and game.

I remember the messes Bruce and I got ourselves into. We would get lost in the woods, stuck in the marshes. We tangled lines. We created backlashes a bird would be proud of. We lost lures. We probably broke a rod or reel along the way, too.

I remember my dad’s patience. No matter how large our problems, he solved them. In fact, during those first few years, he had little time to fish himself. When dad took the boys fishing, he took the boys fishing.

I remember begging my father to let us keep a mess of bluegills, even though many of them were only three or four inches long. Dad would clean them, and we’d all talk about how good they were on the dinner table.

Now it’s my turn. June means warm weather and hungry fish. It also means Father’s Day. Although I can’t give my dad what he has given to me, I can take him fishing. We can share some of those old memories. We can argue about presentations. We can wager on the largest fish.

Maybe I’ll even out fish him, but I doubt it. Whether I catch a fish or not, I’m still the lucky one. I was fortunate enough to have somebody in my life to instill a passion for the outdoors that has shaped my life in a way I wouldn’t change for anything. This is for all the dads out there that spent time in the outdoors with their kids the way my dad did.

Thanks, Dad.