Several years ago, we lost my great-uncle Don. This is a story from him, as handed-down by my dad.

We had been fishing all day. Rowed north and south across the pond. Rowed east and west across the pond. Saw turtles sunning themselves on low tree branches. It was hot. It was muggy. It was cloudless.

Hours went by. And more hours. As dinner time neared, we had caught precisely….nothing. Bupkis. Zilch. Zero. Nada. Don even brought out the Vibra-Bat. When the Vibra-Bat came out, you knew it was time to pack it in: if Don had ever caught something with the Vibra-Bat, I’m pretty sure he would’ve died of a heart attack. The Vibra-Bat was the lure of last resort. If the Vibra-Bat came out of the tackle box, you knew there were no fish. Anywhere. The pond was empty. There might not have even been an amoeba. No fish could pass-up the Vibra-Bat! So if it came out, you knew the day was up: because no fish was EVER caught with a Vibra-Bat. Not. Even. One.

The Vibra-Bat was out. It was time to row for the Bronco. It was time to put your poles away, folks. It was time to plan for dinner – no explanations as to why there were no fish coming home: the Vibra-Bat had come out!

As we came ashore, a station wagon pulled-up. Out hopped an excited dad! There was a whole friggin’ posse of kids in the back.

“How’s the fishing?” he asked.

“The fishing’s great!” replied Don.

“Hey, kids! Let’s get out and start fishing!” exclaimed the dad.

As the boat was hurriedly tied atop the Bronco, Don said, “boy – I’m sure happy he didn’t ask how the catching was.”

That was my uncle Don. Always ready to answer what, exactly, you asked.