Lovely story. And you’ve recieved some sound advice.
I loved the line “I believed my daddy could hold up his hand and stop the wind.” I felt like that, too, about my father, unfortunately I grew up. I still love him dearly, but gone are the expectations of his near-godliness. I’m sure he’s relieved!
I, too, loved fishing with my dad. We’d take our boat across the lake, hike a couple of kilometres through the bush along side of a river with extensive beaver activity, until we reached a tiny still lake — his favourite spot. At lunch, my dad would build a fire and cook pork & beans, which we ate right of the can, and roast a double smoked coil of kobassa (an eastern european garlic sausage) — that we ate from the stick. He was economical that way — at the end of it, all we had to do was rinse off were the forks, and, of course put the cans in his rucksack and carry them back to the trash.
Oh, how sad, about the gravy dish!!!