https://everythingspeakstome.com/files/original/d84a626afe969ce36fd0dcaa1c2131a2.jpg 18272461deb5d152f20623bc60e1b915 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Miami Stories Description An account of the resource Real stories of life in Miami. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Please post your written submission in this field. The images you would like to include should be posted as attachments below. Fathers are a melting pot of stereotypes. Sure, they do all sorts of crazy things around the house like laying waste to every bathroom they go to and procrastinating until the weekend to conduct all sorts of weird repairs to things that do not need them. But my father is a special case: he does all of these and way more, in fact, it gets absurd to the point where I question whether he’s even from this planet and was born at the time he claims he does. And although he does his share of unusual activity on weekdays, the best time to view his loco and comical nature is no doubt on the weekends while participating in the one activity he can’t quite out of his head: fishing. While most Miami dads no doubt want to drag their entire families along in their wild mischief throughout the various canals and rivers that are dispersed throughout the land, mi Papa goes above and beyond just to convince my brother and I, to embark with him in his fishy escapades, for the better or worse. There is a certain saying that goes like this: “There is a method to the madness.” But my father is something else entirely: as I have said time and time again, “There is no method here, only madness will you find.” So, when did the old fossil start getting addicted to fishing? Way back in the prehistoric era before the Internet and I were ever a thing, back when he was able to nearly rip the arms of his football star classmates without even trying. That era would be the 1970’s and 80’s, back when he was my age. My father and his brother would go out fishing with mi abuelo in both saltwater and freshwater. Where there was fish, my old man was not that far behind. At the ripe old age of his early adolescence, he was already catching sharks. That’s right, my pops was hauling monsters at a younger period in his life than I started accompanying him in freshwater shenanigans. Although most of the details have been buried in the sands of time, he does recall catching a baby hammerhead shark in that period only for it to get away with the hook. But sharks were not the only behemoths he reeled in back in the day, he also caught barracudas, snappers, tuna, and groupers too. And it wasn’t just saltwater fish that felt the power of my father’s abnormally titanic muscles: he was also a force to be reckoned with in the freshwater department, reeling in largemouth bass, cichlids, the occasional catfish or bowfin, and his favorite fish of all: Florida gar. He particularly loved gars (and still does) because of the teeth and jaws that not only tried to bite his fingers off but also cranked up the difficulty of getting the hook out to Mission: Impossible levels, and most importantly, how their smell was outright nauseating to him, mind you he normally doesn’t smell much of anything, if at all. But his world would drastically change in a generation or two, and not only because of the rise of a certain uninvited guest from another continent in the Miami waterways. Fast forward to an age where the lessons and values of old are swept aside by the digital tide of technology and personal devices. My uncle (aka my dad’s brother) is now watching from the next world (probably with envy) as two new fishing partners reluctantly enlist in his fishing roguery: my brother, and of course, me. And although my dad has been fishing since the dinosaur age as the family likes to put it, the Miami fishing scene has altered considerably in those years, particularly since 1984 when a peculiar fish species with a golden tail halo from South America started taking over the canals, rivers, and lakes of South Florida. That fish is the peacock bass, now a fishing classic that has gained fame and love within the angler community. So when did I first get dragged out of my gaming chair and into the passenger seat of my old man’s truck? Right when I moved into my current house in the summer between 6th and 7th grade, after he has done a remarkable amount of reconnaissance into the canal behind our soon-to-be backyard. During that summer, we had our share of early morning adventures in the backyard canal, even though I was still tired and cranky that my pops stormed into my room to wake me up and I was not able to even brush my teeth. Nevertheless, with the live bait he already bought for that exact moment, we started hooking up fish after fish. Most of the time they were peacock bass, but largemouth bass and cichlids made appearances here and there. As the family and I settled into our new home and school eventually began, the fishing ventures didn’t cease, quite the contrary. The look on my father’s face when he realized there was yet another canal right by my school (at the time) just couldn’t be described with words. He also rallied my brother to join him and I on these new stints. And how did it go? Not the way we’d like it, too much current and too little fish on the line. But my dad endeavored on (and still does), eventually hitting the jackpot in the various residential lakes scattered in Palmetto Bay. It would be in Palmetto Bay where the three of us would each get out big score. The summers of late middle and early high school were each ones for record books. My dad’s “pets,” as the fish were described as, were in the middle of mating season and were just waiting for an angler or two to just cast their hook in with live bait and then fish till they could fish no more. But in those summer months, a fourth line would be cast once in a blue moon: the person behind the fourth line was mi abuelo, whom my pops had no problem recruiting to join the team. It would be in this time where we would establish records only to break them on a regular basis, with the four of us catching twelve fish in one day only for me and Papa to break that record with 14 fish on a single day. In addition to the most fish caught in one way, we also broke size records that stand to this day. My brother caught the largest largemouth bass in the family, and I hold the record for the largest peacock bass caught. As I was less hesitant on joining in on the fun than my brother was, I got to experience more memories and explore new waterways. One such waterway would be a saltwater canal in the middle of Coral Gables that my dad went fishing with his coworkers with a few times before. It left much to be desired as I had high hoped going into the caper. After catching several small snappers, I struck gold much to the awe and envy of Dad: catching a super rare fish species my dad never caught in his decades of trawling, the redfish. We eventually returned to freshwater and went on fishing sprees that were comparable to the likes of old. However, change is in the air, and with it, a specific micro bug that not only shut down our fishing exploits, but the entire world as we know it, and nearly took me and mi Papa with it. It was the end of one decade and the beginning of everyone’s favorite year when it struck. It all happened so fast, one moment I was savoring time with my homies and catching rays while reeling in juggernauts from the depths, the next one I was trapped in the confines of my home, having to wake up earlier than desired only to suffer by staring at a screen all morning and then do homework even though I felt entitled to not having any in what should’ve been an early summer. The family and I still went fishing in the times we could, but the fish never came. Minutes turned into hours, and in frustration, I resorted to pulling out the one thing that would drive any parent insane: my cellphone. Spots that would normally be infested with fish wouldn’t have as much as a wave. Then came another year of suffering behind a screen and a lack of fish. Since then, the desire to go cooking in the sun to go fishing with my old man has mostly faded or been suppressed by an even greater desire to just stay home and play video games. In addition, the summer that followed was one where not only did temperatures break as the sun unleashed its fire and fury on South Florida, but the virus that destroyed the world nearly did the same to mi familia. It all started on a calm but rather scorching June night, a few days after graduation day. My father commenced rambling about symptoms that appeared like his usual allergies but to a more severe degree. Moreover, he admitted he didn’t feel like himself. Four days later, it was me who found myself on God’s chopping block. First came the chills, then the perpetual sore throat and dry cough, and finally, the constant tiredness. For nine long and hard days, I suffered in isolation in the confines of my home-turned-prison. And even after I defeated the pathogen that nearly ended the story that is my life, the bombardment of requests to return fishing ended up falling on deaf ears. As June turned into July, the sun wasn’t nearly done with the Magic City. Every day brought a new record high, and I was often dragged out of my gaming chair not by Dad, but by mi Madre who was utterly relentless in the need for shopping companions. Then came visits to and from my two abuelas, further reducing any potential time to fish. But the final nail in this fishy coffin was the fact this was mosquito season, and from a mosquito’s point of view, I was public enemy number one. Whenever I did go out with Pops, every part of my body was littered with swollen red bites. I could only take it for so long, and for the rest of the summer, I never again went fishing with my old man, much to his dismay. But as college was right around the corner, the sheer regret and nostalgia set in. Looking back, I felt like I should’ve gone when I had the chance to, but it is what it is. Nowadays, the reaper that came close to burying me six feet under has long faded into obscurity, and perhaps the fish have returned to their old stomping grounds, and with it a new generation of memories and enjoyment shall arise from the ashes of the past. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Fishing For Memories Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Matthew Delval Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 10/03/2022