One of the hardest parts about living in Indiana is being so far away from the ocean. Growing up, we vacationed in Ogunquit, Maine, and in earlier years, Leetes Island, Connecticut. Both spots were within walking distance to the beach. It was glorious!

But we waved goodbye to all of that when we moved to Indiana in 1973. My parents relocated to Connecticut four years later and eventually retired there, but I stayed put.

As our sons grew up here in southern Indiana, we’d visit Mom and Dad each summer for a week’s vacation (Gary was milking cows back then and couldn’t go with us, unfortunately). First in Fairfield and then Madison, my parents lived on the Connecticut side of the Long Island Sound, so we were always just a few miles from the waves, sea shells, and sand.

When John was about seven years old, he developed a sudden interest in fishing. I asked Dad if that was an activity we could plan for that summer, and he started looking into the possibilities.

Whom do you ask about such things? Your barber, of course!

Dad’s barber recommended Tony Barone, a local charter boat captain who was great with kids.

One fine summer morning, John and Tom (who was not quite 14 at the time) climbed on board Tony’s boat, The Early Bird, along with Dad and me.

Tony equipped us each with a fishing pole once we were at sea. He spent extra time with the boys, explaining the process of catching fish in the ocean.

Tom was his usual chill self, and settled in peacefully and patiently. John, on the other hand, was nearly bursting with questions. His enthusiasm was at a level I’m not sure I’ve seen from him before or since. (Well, maybe in his son, Cameron, now that I think about it.)

Tony’s wide grin told us he got a kick out of this high-spirited Midwestern kid. Every 30 seconds or so, John let out a whoop, convinced he had a whopper on the hook. Between Tony and Dad, they kept the mood positive – and the baited hook in the water – as we anticipated the first catch of the day.

Finally, it wasn’t a ghost fish, but the real (reel?) thing. Tony quickly assured John that they’d bring in his fish together. It took a lot of manpower and concentration. John cheered wildly when Tony hollered, “Hold on! It a big one!”

At last, they reeled in the good-sized catch. As Tony reached over the edge of the boat to grab the prize and pull it on board, John saw his fish up close for the first time.

“GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!” he screamed, and ran to the other side of the boat.

The laughter on The Early Bird that day may have scared away most of the fish, but somehow we managed to catch a few more bluefish and striped bass.

John remembers, to this day, that Tony tried to get him to hold his fish for a photo.

“No way!”

When we docked, John and Dad stayed on board The Early Bird for some sort of fishermen’s confab with Captain Tony. It involved getting the fish ready to take home for our dinner that day, and tossing some tasty bits overboard.

The seagulls were grateful.

It was time to say goodbye to the good captain, but not before one last photo. We explained the concept of “fish story” to John and he happily complied, spreading his arms wide.

Twenty years later, Tony is semi-retired and still in Connecticut. John has gone fishing a few times since that day, but his adventure with Captain Tony that morning remains the fish tale we treasure the most.

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