We’ve all been children. We all know what it is to half-believe something we’ve made up. If you don’t know, I suggest you go behind the old family home on Greenfield St. in Albertsons, Wisconsin.
Back there are the thin woods where me and my cousins used to play. And just past that first layer of skinny trees, where the house is almost out of sight, is the Water Hole.
It’s just a hole full of water, really. Very round, not big. A twelve-year-old boy could have jumped it, though to my knowledge, no twelve-year-old boy ever did.
It was my cousin Joey’s eighth birthday when we decided to try fishing it. My pa had given him his first fishing rod of his very own, and Joey wanted to get a feel for it. We tramped out to the woods, Joey, Billy, and me…
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