A Hug, a Handshake and a Walk Back in Time

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It was mid-February in 1977, and I waited in the window looking for my father to pull into the driveway. Not being old enough to understand he would be exhausted after working all night, I couldn’t wait to go ice-fishing. It had been extremely cold for the previous two weeks, but Dad chose that Saturday morning because the weatherman had predicted a spring thaw. The temperatures were supposed to get into the 30s, and he promised me we would go with John Affinito, one of his friends from work. I always enjoyed going fishing with John, and looking back on it, it’s probably because he had a way of relating to an 8-year-old kid.

As I saw the brown station wagon creeping up the driveway, “Scooby-Doo” played on the TV over my left shoulder. The noises from my favorite cartoon quickly subsided into nothingness, and I ran down the stairs to meet my father at the cellar door… we would be heading to Tyke’s bait shop in Whitehall, N.Y., after my father grabbed a quick bite to eat and shared a few stories with my mom about his long night at work.

Once on the road, we shared stories about what might happen in the coming hours. Would we catch a lot of perch with our jigging rods or would we have to depend on the live bait at the end of the line on our tip-ups to lure in some pike, pickerel and perch? Every time we went fishing, the story was waiting to be told.

Pulling into Tyke’s, a lot of beat up trucks and old cars scattered across the tiny parking lot on the side hill above the hut that housed a bunch of tanks full of small fish. Walking down the hill and looking at the giant red letters that spelled “Tyke’s” on top of the building, I felt excitement jolting from my fingers to my toes when Dad turned the door handle.

It was dingy inside, and there was smoke hanging above the bubbling fish tanks. A few men with half-smoked cigarettes hanging out of their mouths stood in the corner, as the smell of fish crept into my nostrils. Then, the old white-bearded man behind the counter shouted at my dad, “What can I get you today?”

Then, another voice sounded from the far side of the shop. It was hard to see the man, but I recognized the voice. It was a voice I had heard many times throughout the winter while fishing for perch and the few previous years while fishing for trout in the spring. His hearty laugh and joking manner attracted me. I liked the man. It was John Affinito. Although he was an adult, it was easy for him to be like me. Heck, we were just two boys who wanted to go catch some fish.

After getting our live bait for the tip-ups and a few Swedish Pimples to use while jigging, we headed outside, got in our vehicles and headed north. A few miles down the road, we came to South Bay. I gathered my gloves and pulled my hat over my ears. Going over the bridge before getting to the boat launch where we normally walked onto the ice, Dad looked at me and said, “We are going someplace different today. We are going to Bulwagga Bay up by Fort Ticonderoga.”

His comments didn’t phase me, as I couldn’t wait to get on the ice and let the line unwind into the darkness of the first hole he would drill. It didn’t matter if we were going to Huletts, Diamond Point, Bolton, Hague, South Bay, or Bulwagga Bay, I just wanted to catch some fish.

Finally, we pulled off the road along an old beat-up railroad track and got ready to head onto the ice. Dad put some stuff in a dark blue plastic toboggan after throwing the straps of a dark wicker backpack over his shoulders and adjusting it to fit comfortably on his back. Within minutes, we were hopping over the tracks and heading onto the hard water.

The day passed quickly and we hauled in about 35 perch. John joked throughout the day about the number of fish I caught compared to him, and he wanted lessons. This day was no different than all the other days I experienced as a kid while fishing with my dad and John. However, as a few years passed, Dad took a new job. After taking the job, we saw much less of John, as their schedules changed and Dad ended up in management and believed it was best to distance himself from people to avoid any claims of him showing favoritism or bias toward others. Now, in my mid-50s, I’ve learned over the years how many people could’ve followed my dad’s lead on that. Unfortunately, in modern society, it’s difficult to find people like that who are managers or leaders in any organizations. Instead of the most qualified people being put into positions, there are many businesses whose leaders put their friends and family members into positions in which they are highly unqualified to do. My dad made the right choice, and I’m glad he explained it to me. He taught me to always search for the most qualified people to work with to produce the best work.

A Decade Later

The years passed quickly, and I found myself in my teen years. I was experimenting with hunting, but I still enjoyed my time with a fishing rod more than anything. Then, going into my sophomore year of high school, the hunting bug finally got me. My brother had moved to Montana the previous year to pursue his love of rocks, stones and the earth and try his hand at obtaining a geological engineering degree from the Montana School of Mines, otherwise known as Montana Tech. When he left, I found myself hunting after school and becoming more interested in animals than fish.

When the time came to choose a college, I chose SUNY Oneonta for a variety of reasons. However, one of the things that sealed the deal was the fact that my father had brought me to Oneonta every year to hunt in the places he had hunted with his friends for many years. I felt comfortable in the woods, and my familiarity with the area allowed me to become a guide for my friends. I was in heaven. Oneonta would change my life, and I still consider my time there as the best four years of my life. I learned how to live alone, manage money, and learn how to be an adult. I’ve never thought I got much smarter at college, but I did learn how to grow up and understand how the real world worked. I learned how to struggle and find a way to overcome hardship. Those lessons have served me better than anything I ever learned in a book during my time there.

With my father hunting in the Adirondacks, the excitement of guns roaring and deer running all over became a thing of the past for him… but not for me. I would continue experiencing opening days in the southern zone throughout my college years, and many of dads friends with whom he used to hunt were still doing the same, one of them being John Affinito.

Not having the easy access that my father used to have when he hunted with his friends, I had to access the same mountain from another area, and the hike to get to the top was brutal, especially with a backpack, tree stand, and gun draped over my shoulders. When I finally got to where I wanted to go on opening day, I attached my climbing tree stand to the base of the tree, climbed the tree and settled in to wait for daylight.

Shortly after daylight, a nice 7-pointer tried sneaking past me but didn’t make it. When the sound of the gunshot echoed off the surrounding mountains and thundered through the valley in front of me, I smiled and wished my dad was there to experience it with me. He had shared many great moments on that mountain with his friends.

With a doe permit in my pocket, I stayed in the tree. I could see the lifeless body of the buck I had just killed, but it had just gotten light, and I knew I had an opportunity to see more deer. I figured I would take my chances and see if I could fill both of my tags.

About an hour later, I heard a stick crack behind me. Peering over my shoulder without moving, I could see a man walking. He was wearing a red flannel coat and dark green wool pants. He didn’t have a clue I was in the tree about 50 yards from him.

As he got closer, he spotted me and walked to the base of the tree. Looking up, John Affinito recognized me and asked, “Have you seen anything?”

I smiled and whispered, “I have one down right over there behind that log.”

Smiling, rolling his eyes, and throwing his right hand over his head, he whispered through a chuckle, “Just like your damn father. You guys are something else.”

After a few minutes of small talk, John disappeared into the trees, and that was the last time I saw him for almost three decades. He had been a big part of my childhood on a limited basis, but he had made an impression on me, and I have never forgotten the times I shared with him and my dad on the ice or floating on an Adirondack pond or sharing some deer stories in Oneonta. He was an adult I respected and enjoyed being around.

A Few Weeks Ago

With my life in chaos, I knew I needed to get my tires changed before fall rolled in, so I contacted my buddy Chuck Weeden at Ross Chevrolet in Whitehall, the town where Tyke’s bait shop was located and where John Affinito lived. We scheduled an appointment, and I marked it in my calendar. In doing so, I didn’t realize my father had an appointment the same day, but he would have to leave his truck overnight, so I would have to give him a ride home after my truck was serviced.

Driving down Route 149, the narrow, curvy road brought an uneasy feeling into my upper chest. Anxious moments have a way of finding me when I travel on that road. Eighteen-wheelers think they’re on a super highway, and there isn’t much room for any type of error while navigating the road.

After getting on Route 4 in Fort Ann, I felt slightly better but still on edge. It was a sunny, beautiful day. With the window down, the air slapped my left cheek and blew my hair to the side. I could feel the warmth from the sky, and the light traffic made my ride to Whitehall uneventful.

Parking the truck across the road in one of the dealership’s lots, I made my way to the service desk. Seeing Chuck in his office, I smiled and put my head down. As I got near the door, I saw him say something to a man sitting in a chair in the office. The man’s back was turned to me, so he stood up and looked out the window. With a big smile on his face, he came out of the office, extended his hand, pulled me close to him once our hands connected and gave me a hug. The man was John Affinito.

Chuck made room for us in his office and let us talk while I waited for my father to arrive and let Justin finish the work on my truck. John asked me if I remembered the time he caught the small trout in the pond in the Adirondacks and told me to eat it raw because it was good. He said I looked at him and said, “If it’s good, you do it first, then I’ll do it.”

That story came up a few times over the next hour, and we laughed and smiled and had a good time while everyone in the dealership around us was trying to work. There we were — a 55-year-old man, a 77-year-old man and a 92-year-old man laughing and carrying on like I was still 8 years old. The laughs brought me back to the time I saw John on the mountain in Oneonta. He was the same age I am now, yet it seems like it was about 10 years ago.

After Justin finished the work on my truck, I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to stay lost in the past. I wanted to go back to being 8 years old without having any idea how life works. I wanted to go back in time to avoid aging. I wanted to see friends and family members who have gone to another world. I wanted to smile, laugh and go fishing. I wanted to live a life without having to face the complications that come with aging and Type 1 diabetes. I wanted to ride home from Whitehall with my dad driving and me having no clue how to drive. I wanted to look out the window and wait for my dad to get home. I wanted to play in the yard while listening to my mom telling me to get inside because there were Bigfoot sightings in Whitehall, and she didn’t want him to get me. Heck, I always thought she believed in Bigfoot until I finally figured out she thought the fear of Bigfoot would actually make me come inside and quit playing.

I’m thankful for many things in my life and learning to appreciate all the people in our lives and the impact they had on us is important. Whether you’re young or old, I believe it’s important to connect with the younger and older generations. The young can teach us many things about ourselves, and the old can inspire us to do more. No matter what you’re doing or where you’re going, I encourage everyone to seek to do more and follow your passions. That will present you with a richer life than any wealth will ever bring you.

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