On Purpose

~Before~

My dad took me fishing when I was thirteen. He mainly sipped on his beer and told me what I was doing wrong, rather than how to do it right.
"The fish was gone an hour ago bud." Then he'd sip his beer and tell me to do it over.
"Not close enough." Another sip.
"The worm wasn't on." A big sip this time.
I grew tired and threw my fishing hook so far it landed right in the middle of the lake. While I thought my dad was gonna beat me to a pulp and say, "Have you lost your mind boy? That fishing hook costed me twenty dollars!" But instead, he chunked his empty can of beer and dug in the cooler for another one.
"Kiss it goodbye." He said and opened the can and began gulping.
I don't know why my dad didn't scold me when I wasted something. If I didn't eat my food and throw it away, he didn't get mad and complain about the cost. He knew he was a hard worker, so even if I didn't waste, he'd still be working hard to put more in the house.
I looked up to my father. He was silent and laid back, he didn't show much emotion since mom left. We don't talk about her, but I still think about her. Then I started thinking, would my mom scold me for throwing the fishing pole?
No. That's the answer.
She would've taught me how to fish, then I wouldn't have thrown it. But my dad wanted me to get it on my own. My mom would've shown me the way, but my dad made me find my own way, and in the end, I gave up.
I gave up hope.