Nothing beats fishing with little girls

Listen to two little girls who were bored with fishing with their grandfather:

“Come here, pretty little worm, I won’t hurt you.

“No, I won’t let Tom Tom put you on his hook and drop you in the water. ... No I won’t.”

That was 5-year-old Emma Grace after she spilled the box of worms on the deck of her great uncle’s fishing pier in South Alabama last weekend.

She and her 4-year-old cousin Ruby saw no use in fishing with a pole if they couldn’t swish the tip of the cane in the water every 15 seconds.

Nor could they see a reason for me to be mean to the worms that I was trying to feed to the bream without luck. The girls were elated the fish were not biting the worms.

“Girls, you are letting all of the worms fall through the cracks,” I scolded.

They didn’t listen to me, so I listened to them:

“Little worm, you are so beautiful, s-o-o beautiful,” Ruby said, as she held one of the slimy worms and stroked its stomach, its head or its side. Worm anatomy is difficult to recognize.

“Little worm, I know that you want your mommy,” she said, attempting to unravel the yarn-ball of feisty fish bait.

Then they began singing to the worms:

“Little worm, you are in my heart, but I’m not in your stomach;

“Little worm, you are in my heart, but I’m not in your stomach ...”

I never made the leap from their hearts to the worms’ stomachs, but it doesn’t have to be one of logic when you flow in and out of the fantasy worlds of 4- and 5-year-olds.

While we were walking to the house, I got the bad news.

“Tom Tom, we want to go fishing with you again,” Ruby said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you let us play with the worms,” she said.

I think I will try crickets next time.

Tom Wright is executive editor.