Fishing for Cookies

It was early in the morning, too early for me to normally be up, but my brother and I were going fishing with my Grandpa and Uncle Snip. I was still young enough that I was jolted with energy just thinking about the day, pre-coffee I call it. The sun was not yet up. In the grey of the morning the older men packed the truck while my brother and I got in the way.

My grandma was up to help get us ready, see the men off and give us a little food for the day. She made some sandwiches for lunch and gave my brother and I crayons and paper. She helped round up some of the last minute items. Most attention getting to me, though, was the cookies.

Just before we left she produced for the four of us a large clear bag of giant chocolate chip cookies. They were bigger than my hands and you could see the goodness of the soft, numerous chips. The image of these cookies overwhelmed my mind that day, from the moment I saw them.

We had packed long enough. My Uncle Snip was a small, thin cranky man, who had no issues expressing his discontent with pretty much everyone. Overtime I heard about his deadbeat neighbors, his family members who didn't take care of their kids and the ridiculousness of Christmas. I can still see him in his white t-shirt, cigarette in his mouth, ready to ask of if we were going to pack all day. He could have stayed home if he wanted his time wasted. He would have hard it, but there was something about his rants I always liked.

That put us on the road, where I could draw pictures of us fishing and eating cookies. This lead to me asking when we be eating the cookie and how the cookies would be divided. When the adults were done with this line f questioning, I moved onto my brother. I discussed when I thought we would be able to get to the cookies.

Shore fishing is not kid friendly. After about fifteen minutes the fishing rods have become boring. The fish wouldn't bite and there were some very strict rules about waiting for fish. You can't talk loud. Don't keep casting. Don't throw rocks in the water, it scares the fish. Quit figgiting. There is only so long you can sit on the sandy soil waiting before you have to do something else.

I'm not sure how long it took, but soon Justin and I were playing beside the shore. Finding sticks and rocks. Trying to build castle. We didn't go far and for the first part of the morning, everything went smoothly. Then something in my mind went back to the cookies.

I reasoned that lunch must be soon and I wasn't sure how many cookies were in the bag. This was a problem, because it meant I didn't know how many cookies I would be getting. So, I wiped my hands off on my jeans and made my way to the truck. I dug the cookies from there hiding place and looked at them. In the bag it was hard to tell exactly how many there were and even if I have known my division wasn't very good yet.

It never occurred to me that you shouldn't set fresh cookies on filthy pants. What occurred to me was the curve of the seat made it so the cookies kept sliding into the crack, which made them hard to count. So, I would balance a couple stacks on the edge of the vinyl seat the others would be in a couple stacks on my legs.

I had adjusted the stacks a few times. The cookies were spread around me in the truck I was in a sort of cookie heaven. My idea of bliss was not shared by my Uncle.

When he saw what I was doing in the truck several things happen. Instantly, I realized what I was doing was wrong. This was before even the first word was spoken, because initially Snip had lost the ability to speak. As I think about it now, it was almost like he needed a reboot. Initially, his mouth moved, but there was no sound. Then partial sentences. Finally, he entered full rant.

I got the cookies beck into the bag, with only a few contaminants. I was evicted from the truck. The whole time my crimes were being recounted by my Uncle and now my Grandpa. My mind though wouldn't let go of one thought, "Three cookies apiece".