When I was living with my parents, my dad started taking me to the beach all of a sudden, not to swim or build sandcastles though, but to go on the pier. My dad took me to, I guess, somehow teach me a survival type of skill. It didn’t matter if the sun was out, or, if it was nine in the morning or ten in the evening, he had hopes to make me a good fisher and caster. It didn’t take him long to teach me, or for me to learn. I got the hang of things right away. By the second week I was really good at casting, I would cast far into the ocean and it made me so happy to see my dad be proud of me. I wasn’t a good fisher; however. I could only fish seaweed out of the ocean. After I got tired I would sit on the pier and let my feet dangle above the ocean, and my dad would watch me, just in case I were to fall through and land in the water. Well now I’m here so I can’t do that anymore, and because my dad doesn’t love me so if fall over there’ll be no one to save me but that’s ok! I guess.
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