The More Things Change (Shawn Hunter)

Grandma Was A Rollin' Stone

A/N: If anyone doesn't like the fact that the oc is black, go away.

I was sitting on the porch rolling my eyes as Cory and Shawn were in the backyard, collecting snails. I had tried telling them that it was just a play by Mr. Feeny but as usual, they didn't listen to me. Mr. Feeny was standing behind me looking over at the two boys.

Alan came out into the backyard looking for his son. "Hey, guys. Hmm, collecting snails?" I looked over at the boys, before I continued drawing the flowers.

Cory looked up at his father proudly. "Yeah, Mr. Feeny said we could take 'em off his flowers and use 'em for bait for when we all go fishing Sunday."

Alan looked at our teacher. "Fish don't eat snails."

Mr. Feeny chuckled. "Gee, I guess I was mistaken." I almost fell off the porch, rolling in a fit of laughter. I'm not sure why I found it so funny but to me it was hilarious. Shawn came over and lifted up my sketchbook. Looking down at the flowers he was just sitting in front of and looking back at me, he smiled. I couldn't wait to go fishing with him and Cory. Just a day to be stupid with those two sounded amazing.

"Well, whenever you guys get ready, the bass master here is all set to pass on to the younger generation some of the finer points of spin casting." Alan said to the three of us.

"Manipulating young and impressionable minds. I hope you're proud of yourself, Mr. Feeny." Cory looked up at our teacher with his hands on his hips.

"Indeed I am, Mr. Matthews." Mr. Feeny smiled and turned away from us.

"Come on, guys. Now, the main thing to remember is that basically, it's a simple flick of the wrist." Alan said as we hopped the fence. Well technically, they boys hopped the fence, I was lifted over it. I swear I must've weighed the same as a dust bunny. "You open the bail, hold the line with your finger, and then it's two o' clock, ten o' clock; two o' clock, ten o' clock; two o' clock, ten o' clock..." the hook swung over his head behind.

"Kind of a "quarter after three" thing you got going on there, Dad, huh?"

Mr. Feeny approached the fence. "May a, ah, fellow angler try his luck?"

Alan looked over at the older man, "Be my guest, George." He said, handing the fishing rod to him.

I watched as Mr. Feeny mutters softly before he casts perfectly into a bucket. "It's like getting back on a bicycle. One never forgets." He smiled, content with himself.

Cory looked up at him. "Mr. Feeny, you fish?"

Mr. Feeny nodded. "Oh, sure, I'm an old bass hog from way back. I'll never forget that September morn. 1956. I was after smallmouth bass on the Louisiana delta." I listened so intently. This sounded like such a brilliant story.

Alan didn't seem to think so though. "Sounds fascinating, George." He says sarcastically.

Mr. Feeny didn't seem to catch the disinterest as he went on, much to my pleasure. "Spanish moss hanging down, and the cypress knees jutting up through the brackish water of the bayou..."

Alan tried again. "Sounds fascinating, George." Mr. Feeny stopped and I pouted. I'll have to ask him about it later.

"Dad, how come Eric's not coming with us this year?" Cory asked his father suddenly. I looked over at the curly haired boy.

"Well, your brother's discovered girls. He can't sit still. When you're Eric's age and you can't sit still, I'll take Morgan. It's the endless cycle of fishing." Alan explained.

"Have you tried explaining to Eric that he could take girls fishing with him, Mr. Matthews?" I asked. He smiled at me, I wasn't sure why.

"Not for the activities he wants no. It's the unfortunate part of having children. The boys grow up and can't sit still. The girls...well I don't know yet because Morgan loves ponies, point is after he," he pointed to Cory "loses his mind and obsesses over girls, I'll have Morgan."