Every Father's Daughter
By Dave Ochs
dave@vabass.com

My daughter is going to become the first woman to win the Bass Masters Classic.

After all, every father holds big hopes and dreams for his offspring. Doctor? Lawyer? Heck, no. Those are people I don't want to see. My doctor and my attorney would rather come to me and have me take them fishing.

Okay, so she's only six months old now. But I've got her pointed toward the 2024 Classic on 500,000-acre Lake Dubya in Death Valley, the yet-to-be-built solution to California's energy crisis. That's enough time for her get that college scholarship and business degree, polish her fishing skills, qualify for the pro tour, and land a few sponsors.

Have to do some work on those sponsors. Since the current trend is to bring non-traditional companies into fishing sponsorship roles, my daughter will be right at the cutting edge of that movement. I love my Triton boat, Mercury engine, All-Star rods and Shimano reels but, sorry guys, my girl's main sponsor is going to be a groundbreaker.

Victoria's Secret.

She takes after her mother.

Proud Daddy.

Thinking about the future of a daughter can take a toll on Mommy and Daddy. This is our first child, and we're dealing with serious issues. We have compelling, eternal questions like, how do we pay for her braces, fund her college education, and protect her from mean schoolmates? Is that much crying normal? When can she date? Should we buy her a lifetime membership in B.A.S.S now or wait until she can read?

When she does learn to read, she can turn to something hanging over her changing table for a history lesson. Jennifer's mother is keeping a First-Time calendar. It comes complete with little stickers that we can put on key dates to mark our daughter's major accomplishments, like her first smile, her first time rolling over, her first solid food. It's a nice calendar, but it's sadly incomplete. I found a box of blank stickers on which I'm drawing little symbols to mark her first rod, her first reel, and her first fish!

I can't wait to take her out in the boat for the first time. My wife is concerned about finding a life jacket small enough for the baby, but I've assured her that they are made that small. Besides, there's always the livewell. Carol frowned at me for that comment, but then was quick enough to point out that I don't use it for anything else anyway.

We're already guiding Jennifer along the creek to success. During those marvelous, breathtaking and precious moments when she bats her baby blues/greens/browns (they're still changing) at us, displays a big, wide smile and gives us her full attention, we gently and distinctly recite the words to her that we dearly hope she'll learn first. "Mommy." "Daddy." "Bass." My wife firmly has made the point that if baby's first word is "bass," or "lunker," or "buzzbait," there will be severe consequences.

In truth, Carol is supporting and tolerant of my love of (she would say obsession with) the outdoors, my love of (she would say unhealthy obsession with) fishing, and my love of (she would ask if there are any 12-step programs for fishermen) competition. She went so far as to find and buy for Jennifer a cute little toy fishing rod that comes complete with little fishes that have plastic rings built inside their bodies so they can be caught with the curly little plastic worm on the end of the line. We gave it to Jennifer this year as her very first present for her very first Christmas. Upon the opening of the gift I, of course, immediately sprang to my daughter's side to guide her in the fine art of angling and help her snare that first fish. When we snatched the fish from off the floor and held it high on display, we looked like a father and daughter lifting a lunker high in front of 20-thousand screaming people at the Bass Masters Classic. Jennifer thought that was fun and launched a big grin. Daddy thought that was wonderful and flashed a broad, proud smile. Mommy looked at us and expressed her joy as well.

I believe her exact words were, "What have I done?"