A few weeks back, I took my two non-diaper-wearing sons, William and Carson, fishing for the first time. I’m not an accomplished fisherman. Most of the time, when I go on a fishing expedition, I return with little more than a few “the one that got away” stories and a bucket full of worms still grieving the fact that their brave comrades died in vain.

Still, I wanted to take my sons fishing. So I loaded up my van and took William and Carson on a “guys’ weekend” to visit my parents in the North Carolina mountains.  After taking a day to travel, we arose on Sunday and drove to a nearby trout farm.

Of course, a true fisherman is likely to scoff at the notion of fishing in a stocked pond. But keep in mind, my ultimate goal was to ensure that my sons’ first venture into fishing met with success. They didn’t need to know that the game was fixed. I just wanted them to enjoy the thrill of pulling a fish out of the water.

Looking into the shallow water, I could see that we were dealing with some sizeable trout. Part of me wondered if my boys would even be able to reel in such large fish.

“Not a problem,” I thought, “Pa Pa and I are here to help.” I couldn’t wait to get the hooks in the water, hand off the poles to my sons, and enjoy watching the excitement on their faces as they landed their first fish.

Unfortunately, no sooner had we cast our lines into the water that William, my older son, suddenly became seized with horror. Seeing a nearby fisherman pull a flailing fish from the water was enough to make him fearful of these freshwater “monsters.” Taking his cue from his older brother, Carson also panicked and decided he wanted no part of this wildlife adventure either.

And so, after days of exhibiting nothing but joyous anticipation regarding their first fishing trip, William and Carson refused to touch the fishing poles at all. Instead, what was meant to be their first fishing expedition turned into me and my dad standing on the side of the pond and casting Fisher-Price-sized fishing poles.

After spending most of the day standing at safe distance and asking me no less than a hundred times if a trout could eat him, William finally got up enough courage to hold the fishing pole after close to an hour. He even rejoiced triumphantly when he managed to catch some moss. (Captain Ahab, eat your heart out!)

No, it wasn’t the fishing outing I'd quite envisioned. But it was still a fun day and a great memory. Next year, maybe the boys will be up for casting a line, secure in the knowledge that trout are not flesh-eaters. Oh well, good fishin’ or not, nothing beats time with my boys. I would highly recommend to any dad taking a weekend to go fishing with their little ones. Who knows, maybe you’ll even get lucky and catch some moss.