Living in an old trailer wasn’t as bad as it sounded. It was just me and Mom. We’d been on our own since Dad left when I was six. I barely remembered him, and Mom never spoke about him. We didn’t talk about it.
“Adam, can you grab the mail?” Mom would call from the couch, her legs propped up on a pillow. A car accident years ago had left her with a limp. Still, she worked long shifts at the gas station to keep us afloat.
“Sure, Mom,” I’d reply, grabbing my coat. I didn’t mind the small chores. They made me feel useful.
After school, I often found ways to occupy myself outside. That day, I was tossing an old soccer ball at bottles I’d set up like bowling pins. Suddenly, a shiny black SUV rolled up beside the trailer. I stared, wondering who would come around here in something so fancy.
Teenage boy standing outside an old trailer | Source: Midjourney
An old man, probably in his 70s or 80s, stepped out, leaning on a cane but sporting a warm smile. He waved. “Hey there! Mind if I take a shot?” He pointed at the bottles.
“Uh, sure,” I replied, unsure of what to think.
“Let’s make it interesting. If I get a strike, I’ll ask you for a favor, and you can’t say no. If I miss, I’ll give you a hundred bucks. Deal?”
My eyes widened. A hundred bucks? “Deal!” I said quickly.
The man picked up the deflated ball and tossed it. The ball rolled straight, knocking every bottle down. My jaw dropped. No way.
He laughed. “Looks like I won. Now, for that favor.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“Come fishing with me tomorrow at the old pond.”
“Fishing?” I scratched my head. “Sure, I guess. Let me ask my mom.”
He smiled and nodded. “I’ll wait.”
I hurried inside. Mom was asleep on the couch. I bit my lip, deciding she wouldn’t even know. I tiptoed back outside. “Alright, I’ll go,” I told the old man.
“Great! We’ll meet tomorrow at dawn.”
The next morning, he picked me up. We drove to an old pond surrounded by tall grass. It looked abandoned.
“Why here?” I asked as I grabbed the fishing rods.
“This place means a lot to me,” he replied softly.
We cast our lines and sat quietly. After an hour with no bites, I asked, “Why did you want to come here?”
He looked at me, sadness in his eyes. “Years ago, I came here with my son. He was about your age. We were poor and never caught a fish.”
“Where’s your son now?” I asked.
He fell silent, tears filling his eyes. “He’s gone. I couldn’t save him.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He shook his head. “I promised myself I’d never feel that helpless again. I worked hard, but I never had another child.”
I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Your son’s watching you from heaven. You just can’t give up.”
He smiled through tears. “Thank you, Adam.”
Suddenly, one of our floats dipped. “Hey, the float!” I yelled.
We both grabbed the rod, pulling hard. We lost our balance and tumbled into the pond with a splash. The cold water hit me, and the old man surfaced beside me, laughing.
“Well, this is one way to catch a fish!” he cackled.
Finally, we dragged the rod back to shore, and to our surprise, it had the biggest fish I’d ever seen. The old man jumped up, soaking wet but grinning. “We did it!”
Later, he drove me home. “Thank you, Adam. Today meant more to me than you’ll ever know.”
“Thanks for taking me fishing. It was fun,” I replied.
The next day, a man in a suit knocked on our trailer door. “Adam?” he asked.
“I’m Mr. Johnson, Mr. Thompson’s assistant. He asked me to deliver this.” He handed me a package.
Inside was more money than I’d ever seen. “What is this for?”
“It’s for you and your mother. Enough to move into a proper house and cover her medical care. Your education will be fully funded.”
Tears filled my eyes. “Why?”
“Mr. Thompson was very moved by you. He sees a lot of his son in you.”
Months passed. One afternoon, I found a letter addressed to me in familiar handwriting.
“If you’re reading this, I’m watching you from heaven,” it began.
“The day after we went fishing, I had heart surgery. I didn’t survive, but that’s okay. Meeting you gave me peace. You reminded me there’s still joy in life.”
Fifteen years later, I stood on the porch of the house I built for Mom, watching her laugh with my kids.
“You never gave up, Adam,” she said. “He’d be proud.”
“I hope I’ve made him proud,” I replied.
“You have,” she said. “He gave you everything.”
I looked up at the sky, feeling that same warmth I’d felt all those years ago.
