CEBU, Philippines - Two boys used to fish in the river by their small village.
There was not a day when they did not go fishing. During school days, they would bring their hooks, lines and sinkers in their bags, so they could go straight to the river right after classes. They would catch fish until sunset.
On weekends, the first one to finish his assigned chores at home would have to go to the other's house and ask his friend's parents that they be allowed to go fishing again. And their parents would always allow them to go, because the river was just nearby.
Everyone in the village knew about close friendship of the two boys and their fondness of fishing in the river. The community knew that the two friends liked to go to the river more than they wanted to just stay at home and play.
As soon as they had worms ready for the bait, the boys would throw their lines into a deeper part of the water and wait for a catch. Each time their hands would feel the lines move they'd look at each other, their eyes grown big. "Ssshhhh…," they'd signal to each other, their index fingers crossing their lips, meaning that they be both quiet so as not to drive away the fish.
At times one of them would pull his line only to find not a fish but a worn-out slipper or a tin can. The other one would burst into laughter. Then they would laugh together some more, until the trash caught in the hook would be removed and a new bait put in place.
There were times when they'd go home with nothing. At other times they'd bring home fish enough to feed the entire village. When their catch was plentiful, every family in the village would each have their share of fish.
Some villagers would grill the fish over burning charcoal; others would soak their share in salt to dry under the sun. But a most inviting whiff would come from the homes of those whose huts stood at the foot of the mountain, at some distance from the river, as they sautéed their fish with tomatoes and garlic and onions. The aroma would never fail to make every mouth salivate.
All the people in the village loved the two boys, because of the fish they brought every now and then. They were the only ones who fished in the river. The other kids just loved to stay home and play, never taking interest about the river or in fishing.
The time came when the two boys left the village to study in the city. Nothing was heard of them since. It had been 14 years now since they left. There were stories told that the two enrolled in a seminary and, after finishing school, were sent to Rome for further studies. They had become "fishers of men."
Back in the village the absence of the two boys was soon filled in by another boy, who was encouraged to leave the play at home and go to the river to catch fish.
I am that other boy who suddenly fell in love with fishing in the river. But unlike those two boys, I go to the river alone. I know it is so much more fun to go with a friend.
With a friend as companion, it will still be okay to go home empty handed. Without a friend, even a full basket of fish won't mean as much. Going to the river with a friend is not as much about catching fish as it is about friendship. (FREEMAN)