The I can't complex #1

As a young child my dad frequently took his family into the wild.  We would go hiking, fishing, huckleberry picking, or take long trips into the mountains... trips my dad called "short cuts".  As a young child I mostly enjoyed it, all though the short cuts may have taken "forever", in retrospect I now find those long lost moments not tedious, but lovely.  Now, in my spare time I have many good memories to thumb through.  

For instance, there was the time I hooked my finger instead of the wriggling worm.  Or the time when David and I fell into a deceiving  inch of water and two feet of mud deceptively disguised underneath.  It was a strange sensation, stepping into shallow water and then having your leg sucked into never ending mud, I never did touch bottom as I fell, but luckily only one leg fell in and my brother pulled me up before any real damage could be done.  The rest of the trip we were cold and muddy.  

 There was another occasion when we lost the car on a hike into the mountains.  Most people lose their cars in parking lots or parking garages, we lost ours in mountainous nature on a solitary dirt road.  The walk back to the car was arduous and dark, dark being very significant to a young child with fears of wild, rapid, black dogs attacking.  I remember forcing our way through thick brush and clambering over fallen down logs as we headed downhill, towards where we thought the car was.  Other then a fear of black dogs, I don't remember being particularly scared.  My dad was there, I could hide my panic, pleasantly, comforting it with a gentle pat, in my coat pocket as long as my dad was still there.

Despite the peculiar accident, or two or three or four, we odd children found ourselves in, I mostly remember a vague sense of comfort being together, and a feeling of awe at the beauty and wonder of nature and a certain knowledge that with my dad nothing could hurt us.  Except once, when my dad allowed me to discover for myself just what I was capable of.  

We were fishing, and my dad hooked a particularly large and strong fish.  I remember holding onto that fishing pole with all the strength my little body could muster and still my feet were dragged forward inch by inch towards a small drop off into the water, which I was pretty positive would suck me under immediately, being the large, dark and deep pond that it was.  Determinedly, I tugged back fighting for my four year old life but the fish pulled me forward again, just as resolute to safe his own.  I was teriffied and angry, loosing my ground. 

I looked to my dad for help, why wasn't he saving me, didn't he see the danger.  My dad just stood there, maybe even laughed.  I was so sure the fish on my line was going to pull me in... it was so strong!  I remember clearly the feeling of desperation, tears in my eyes and angry that he thought I could do something so hard all by myself.  This fish was seriously contesting whose life would be forfeit and my dad was doing nothing to help!  My memory loses me there. 

Right there.  Forever fixed in that one spot.  An epic battle between fish and girl.  Both fighting desperately for our lives.  It is a little obvious, I suppose, who won the fight (this is not a fish typing here), but I do not remember how it was won, if finally I mustered enough strength to hurl the beast to shore, or if my tears and anger finally called my dad to my aide.  I have talked with my dad about this moment since then, and he is very adamant that the fish was not going to pull me in, he had full confidence in what his little girl could do, and that if anything happened my dad would be there to protect me.  Looking back I believe he may have been trying to teach me a lesson...the I can lesson... when you are faced with all the fear and doubt of "can't" but find that despite crippling angst you are able.