Poor Old Man

If I were that old man, I think I would be scared to go out fishing all by myself. Granted, he had been doing it his entire life, but still. He was old and not quite as strong as he used to be. What if something happened to him, like he had a stroke, and he just had to lay around floating on a boat until he died or a shark ate him? That would not be a pleasant way to leave this green earth. Or blue earth, however you look at it, since I guess the world is mostly water or whatever. I am actually not sure if that is true, I suck at geography. I also suck at history, and chemistry, and Spanish. Oh boy do I despise that language. Good thing my new Spanish friend Miguel actually has a cool Spanish accent. I would ask him to teach me Spanish, but I think I would rather drink soap. I would probably even rather drink Mr. Vermeersch's hot salsa, and let me tell you, that would be sheer torture.

I started to get worried even more for that dear old man as he set out for the deeper waters. I absolutely love the water, and although I have never seen an ocean, I have spent a lot of time on lakes. Being alone in a little boat all by myself way far away from the shore though might not be so fun. I remember one time when I was younger, around the age of nine or so, my dad and I went out night fishing on a little rickety canoe in Wisconsin. There was this big dark ominous cloud that I pointed out to my dad, and he told me not to worry about it. Well, lo and behold, as soon as we got to the complete opposite end of the lake, it started to downpour. I am talking buckets and buckets. Keep in mind we were in a little canoe and since I was little I could not row. My dad had to row us a few miles in this absolute ruckus all the way back to our cabin, and it was terrifying. What if that situation fell upon the old man? He was not young and buff like my father, so what would he had done? Chances are he would have drowned, and he seemed like a nice old man so that would be bad.