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  • My Dad loved me, but hated fishing. He loved me, but hated camping. None-the-less his selfless acts of self torture led me to my love for the outdoors.

    When I turned 8, he bought me a fishing pole knowing full and well that he would have to take me fishing. And so one saturday, we went to the local pay-for-fishing pond where for 3 hours he sat, untangling my line as I had a blast. And when I didn't catch anything and was so disappointed, a Chinese man approached us and offered one of his fish from his stringer of 8. Even though it wasn't my fish, I was so proud to bring that trout home. Having not learned his lesson-- On my 12 birthday, he took me and 10 friends to another pond to fish. While I'm sure he hated every minute of untangling not just my line but 10 others, he did it without compliant because he cared about what I loved. That's love.

    A year later, I joined the boyscouts. And while I didn't last long, I did get to go camping for the first time. It was November and I was perhaps the only kid who'd never been. My dad took me to the sporting good store, bought me a tent, sleeping bag, and then we packed the car for the camp. He offered to join me. So there we were, the two of us in a tiny, leaky tent, in the woods. And the temperature dipped into the 30's-- yeah it was cold, he was miserable, but he stuck with it. That's persistence.

    When I turned 18, I bought myself a fly fishing pole, taught myself to fish, and went camping a whole bunch. I continue to love the outdoors and it's all because of somewhat humorous and selfless exposure I had to it as a kid-- Thanks Dad-- you're the best.
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