Fish first diggity

The first time I ever was “out” to sea to work my father is a trip still rocking .

I had a light blue bandanna on…The boat was dancing calm with the ocean…a quiet song of the morning sea… My father was wearing his “ salt-water” cowboy hat—a filter less cigarette dipped off to the side of his mouth…these cigarettes were part of him…they were also killing him…he wore the warning of death on a daily basis…with a smile, he laughed in the face of it…and surrendered himself to the unknown, flirting tirelessly with Camel cigarette, after cigarette, lighting one up with the other. I would catch him doing so, looking at me saying “ what?”
…Butts as he called him…his eternal pack of butts.

All of my senses were heightened, the high of the ocean…perked by the electricity of being able to see my father in his element..in his dance.

I remember the rush of the engine and waves in my bloodstream… the stern eye of my Father finding his first string of gear to retrieve..
He was quietly singing to himself the song Stagger Lee…coughing, singing, laughing--
owning everything around him, with the fearless blend of a lit up child, and wise sea-versed man.
There was still shadows on deck…my father leaned over his post to flip on the switch to the lights…and the music
“ You ready for this kid.” ....A moments time, he turned a brief piece of his attention toward me…a smile as he pulled his cigarette from his lips to spit out a piece of the tobacco..
Lights on…gil net being hoisted on to the lifter…thats when the bass kicked in..PRESS PLAY>>>YOU HAVE TO

...and this is how it all started....I shit you, NO Diggity, no doubt.
This part of it was obviously enough to make me feel very fishermen gangster.