The sun beat down. I was in some far-flung corner of the world—Marine Corps business, the kind that keeps you moving but leaves your soul stuck in neutral. Days blended into each other: same gear, same chow, same faces. The monotony was a weight, heavy as the pack I carried. Sitting by my gear, I stared out at the ocean, its endless blue mocking the grind of my routine. Then I saw it—a lone tree, gnarled and stubborn, growing right up against a stone wall. It cast a pitiful patch of shade, the only relief in sight.

Tango was a force of nature, a blur of fur and muscle, leaping with a joy that seemed to defy gravity itself. He was athletic—strong, fast, and brimming with endurance. At my mother’s house, the trees tell his story: branches all trimmed to the same height, not by a landscaper, but by Tango’s relentless bounds. For hours, he’d spring up, snatching every limb within reach, tearing them down with the glee of a canine acrobat. Once, I swear on my life, he cleared me—5’9” and no small obstacle—in a single, breathtaking leap. That was Tango in his prime, a whirlwind of unstoppable energy.

When I was nine, I met Bill, my mother’s biological father. He was introduced simply as Bill, no title, no fanfare—just a wiry Southern man with a warm grin and eyes that sparkled with mischief. From the moment we shook hands, we clicked. It was like finding a friend I’d known forever. Bill was a Southern boy through and through, born and bred in the heart of North Carolina, with a drawl that made every story feel like a fireside tale.

I often find myself wishing I could sit down with my grandfather again, just to talk. There’s a quiet ache in those moments, thinking of all the conversations we never had—stories he didn’t share, questions I didn’t know to ask. He was a man of depth, shaped by a world I’ll never fully understand, and I regret not soaking up more of his wisdom when I had the chance. Missed opportunities linger like shadows, don’t they? The things we’d say if we could turn back time.

George Washington, the first President of the United States, was not only a revered military leader and statesman but also an avid angler who enjoyed the sport of fishing. Throughout his life, Washington was known to spend time fishing in the waters of the Potomac River and other nearby streams.