Why is learning to share such a problem?
Did I not learn that sharing is a good thing way back in the days of the Mickey Mouse Club and Romper Room?
Bert, Ernie, Elmo and Big Bird would be ashamed of me; how hypocritical of me to have watched all those episodes of Sesame Street, while holding my daughters in my lap, telling those young ladies to learn from the Muppet men (I think) that it is important to learn to share.
Yet I’m about to embark on my annual “Go away; leave my lake alone; it’s mine, not yours” tantrum.
Next weekend is Memorial Day weekend. To me - I’m ashamed to admit - it is not purely about remembering and honoring those who made the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of my freedom. To me it is the end of my freedom; freedom to fish undisturbed and unperturbed.
Summer on Lanier is here. A vestige of selfishness arises in me at this time every year. I hate sharing my lake.
School is out. The water is warming and here come the wake boats and jet skis. “My life is ruined!” I tell myself.
For the past eight months I have been able to run across the biggest part of the lake, wide open, and never hit a bump. Now four-foot swells, created by boats that are better suited for ocean travel, swamp my boat as I struggle to cross Lake Lanier.
Four the next four months I will have to wear a rain suit, even on cloudless days, to stay reasonably dry. My kidneys will be bounced around each time I cross the wake of a ski boat, etcetera, etcetera, and etcetera.
For a man who doesn’t drink wine I sure do whine a lot.
Okay; that’s off my chest. I’ll just sit down and shut up.
Actually, if a man, or woman, can get the time off to fish Tuesday through Thursday, it isn’t so bad. And if I get on the water early the other days and surrender the lake around 11:00 AM, it isn’t so bad either.
Okay; I’ll share.
Allan Sherman said it best in the summer of 1963:
“Wait a minute!
It's stopped hailing.
Guys are swimming.
Guys are sailing.
Playing baseball.
Gee! That's better.
Muddah, Fadduh, kindly disregard this letter!”
