My dear friend Rob,
Thanks for the invitation to go fishing. Someday I’d like to do that, but right now my schedule won’t allow it.
Would you believe that this citizen of San Francisco has never hooked a fish in his life? It’s true. I’ve been out a few times and have never had that feeling of reeling in a slippery river dweller.
We urbanites are a totally different breed than you country folk. We weren’t designed to stand for hours by a stream. It’s not in our genes. Our genes were devised to tread pavement and asphalt and to smell the delectable aromas of fresh roasted coffee, shish kebab, or sweet and sour pork wafting in the San Francisco air. Our genes were combined to admire the rainbow of colors at outdoor produce stands and to walk and philosophize with friends, while at the same time dodging maddened Type-A drivers. We were created to attend weekend baseball games with our sons, to throw the ball around with them, to pitch to them, and to make city men of them.
Our genes were shaped to inhale the strong Pacific breeze, as well as the scent of a rose or a sprig of rosemary. We were formed to amble past parks where kids play by day and the homeless shiver at night. Yes, our genes were composed to look up into the gray pearl of a San Francisco sky, or possibly a sky as blue and clear as our wives’ eyes, or walk under a squadron of seagulls and be thankful that none of them has bombed us into oblivion. Our genes were also constructed to spot pennies, nickels, and dimes, and to step over what San Francisco’s dogs leave behind.
We were put together to view flapping sails and cargo ships passing under the Golden Gate, and to sweep the sidewalk in front of our house, as well as our neighbors’ houses on either side of us. We were molded to nap on drought-dry grass in parks if our bodies needed a rest, or to see our wives open the front door with smiles on their faces and a bag full of groceries in their arms. Yes, our genes were forged to wash dishes and pots, to sweep the kitchen floor, to vacuum carpets, to be handymen around the house, and to recycle paper, bottles, and cans.
That, my dear country friend, is what this Genus San Franciscus man is made of.
If you ever go fishing again, I’ll be open to your invitation. Maybe then you’ll be able to teach this pavement-pounder how to catch a fish.
Sincerely yours,
Joe