A Tribute to My Dad: The Man Who Taught Me to Fish

This past Saturday evening, August 10th, my dad took his last breath. Surrounded by family, in a room filled with love, he peacefully departed this world. It was a moment of profound sadness, and yet, in that silence, a cherished memory surfaced that brought a smile to my face when I thought nothing could.

For those who know me, it’s no secret that my passion for fly fishing runs deep. It’s a love that was nurtured and cultivated by my dad, the man who first put a rod in my hand and taught me the art of casting a line. He wasn’t just a father; he was my fishing partner, my teacher, and the person who helped shape the man I am today.

One of the fondest family memories we all share happened over 20 years ago during a camping and fly fishing trip to Lake Taneycomo in Branson, Missouri. It was one of those trips where the stories told around the campfire are just as important as the fish we caught. My mom and dad, sister and her husband, uncle and my cousin, and I were all there, creating memories that would last a lifetime.

One evening, we may have celebrated the day’s catch a little too enthusiastically, and the song “Piano Man” by Billy Joel found its way into the night. My dad loved that song—no, he adored it. We played it over and over, each time turning up the volume just a little bit more. By the time we were done, I’m pretty sure the song had been played 30 or 40 times. The other campers at the campground were not as fond of Billy Joel as we were, and we were politely, then firmly, asked to turn it down—or face being kicked out.

This story has been told countless times over the years, always met with laughter. It’s just one of those classic family moments that perfectly encapsulates who my dad was—full of life, full of joy, and absolutely unafraid to indulge in the things that made him happy. It became something of a tradition: he would often request “Piano Man” wherever we went, even nearly getting kicked out of a piano bar for tipping the piano player too much just to keep the song going...and going.

As we sat with him on his final evening, the room grew quiet after he took his last breath. In that heavy silence, when the weight of loss felt unbearable, a song began to play. It was “Piano Man.” But this wasn’t just a coincidence. The song came on completely at random, from a music channel we hadn’t even selected. It was as if the universe knew that we needed that song in that very moment—a gentle reminder from my dad, a connection far beyond what can be explained by random chance.

In that moment, I smiled—something I didn’t think was possible right then. It felt like a small gift from him, a reminder that even in the hardest moments, there’s room for a smile, for a fond memory, for a connection that transcends this life.

My dad was more than just a father; he was a mentor, a friend, and the person who sparked my lifelong love of fly fishing. This business, Pescador on the Fly, exists because of him, because of the values and passions he instilled in me. So, as I continue to cast my line into the rivers and lakes that we once fished together, I carry his memory with me, every step of the way.

Thank you, Dad, for everything. And here’s to you, forever the “Piano Man.”