Father vs. Son: A Fishing village Showdown

"Father!" I yelled.

"Keaton!" he replied.

We both ran toward each other and collided with a jolt. We held each other in a fierce hug, savoring the moment. I was so proud of my son. He had grown into a strapping young man before my eyes, and I wanted to relish every second with him. But it wasn't long before we pulled apart and started to help unload my wagon. The sun was setting, and the village would need to stock up for the night.

"I'm so glad you could make it," I said as we set down the last few sacks of grain from the wagon. "You're looking very well yourself." He was tall now, almost to my height, but still so gangly, like a colt that had just been born. His sandy hair made his blue eyes shine like gems in the fading light. "You've grown since I last saw you."

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it sooner," Keaton said sheepishly. He blushed bright red at that, though I couldn't tell why; he had always been a shy boy. Perhaps he was embarrassed by his growth spurt? Or maybe it was something else? No matter what it was, I had plenty of time to find out now that he was here with me again.

"Well, that's all right," I said, slapping him on his back in a manly gesture of pride and understanding. "You were busy growing up." That got another blush out of him, which made me smile again; I had forgotten how much fun teasing him was during our time together in the village when he was younger. Now, though, there was business to take care of first before we could retire for dinner and catch up over wine (or ale for me).

"All right now, you ready?" I asked him eagerly as soon as the wagon was empty and ready for return to the stables after tomorrow's market day in town. "How about you and I have a few rounds?"

Keaton's face fell even more than it already had and he looked absolutely crestfallen at my words. "Oh no father," he said quietly with a sad shake of his head and continued muttering under his breath while staring at his feet as if they were some great mystery he wished to solve immediately rather than participate in our ritual boxing match: "Oh no… oh please no…"

Oh damn… This can't be good; this is not good at all! Not only is my son not interested in fishing with me anymore -– which is bad enough -– but now he's afraid to box with me?! What has become of the fearless boy who used to chase seagulls off our fishing lines? Where has the young lad gone who used to ask if we could go swimming off cliffs during high tide? When has my son become this timid creature standing next to me now? My heart sank as those thoughts entered my mind and took root there like an infection spreading throughout my entire being until every thought seemed tainted by their presence -– but then suddenly there was nothing left inside me at all; instead there was only emptiness where there once used to be love for my son running through me like fire through veins on a warm summer day or waves crashing against rocks on a stormy night or rain falling from moss-covered trees on a rainy afternoon…