The Editor’s Note: Memories of Dad

The editor’s dad Stan Cocoles (with his beloved grandpup, the late Sharkie) passed away last September. But dad and son shared a lot of adventures, something the editor will remember on Father’s Day. (CHRIS COCOLES) W hen I was young growing up near San Francisco, I really had only two major passions: watching sports and fishing. I still have those feelings today, but nothing like when I was a kid.

My dad really didn’t share either of those with me. Sure, he was a pro football fan, but even in that venue we couldn’t agree. He cheered for his hometown San Francisco 49ers; me, the Seattle Seahawks (among other teams when I wasn’t sure what team I’d ultimately cheer for before becoming a massive Seattle fan). So we clashed for years, particularly when the two teams became bitter division rivals.

Still, Dad tolerated fishing enough to share many memories with me. I caught my first fish – a decent-sized channel catfish – when we went to Clear Lake, California’s largest natural freshwater body. I brought my prize – still alive and flopping on the end of my hook – into the kitchen of the family friend we were staying with. I was probably 8 years old, and though I can’t remember for sure, my dad probably had a look of equal parts joy and fear that the fish would stink up the kitchen.

But I think he enjoyed our time together on the water, much like Brian Watkins and his dad Tom did during their mountain goat hunt celebrating Tom’s 60th birthday (page 47).

I was my dad’s only son among four kids and we both took solace in getting away from the girls to fish and even going to Candlestick Park to watch his beloved 49ers (I did my best to “root” for the home team).

On another father-son Clear Lake trip when I was in high school, we rented a boat as the summer sun blazed and began to cook us. We eventually retreated into a shaded cove for the last couple hours before we had to return to the marina. We didn’t even get one bite, but we were both relieved to be out of the sun when none of the boats were catching anything either.

There were plenty of similar stories – sometimes catching a couple fish and others going home skunked. Looking back now it didn’t matter if we did or didn’t get lucky.

Father’s Day is June 21 and it will be my first without my dad, who passed away last September at 87. I’ll feel more nostalgic than sad, though of course I miss him. He had a long and happy life and I’m relieved he didn’t endure this COVID-19 pandemic.

We didn’t get to fish together much as he got older, but like the Watkins duo, I’ll always have the memories. -Chris Cocoles