Daddies and daughters: A special bond

I'll admit it. As a father to three daughters, I'm a softie when it comes to daddy-daughter moments. We walk through our lives and are blessed by many things but I believe a man is poorer if he's never known the love of a daughter. I have a son, too, and that relationship is incredibly fulfilling in both different and grateful ways. But a daddy and his daughter, well. Yeah. Courtney and Keira I went fishing with Courtney Smith and his daughter, Keira, on Thursday night. "Do you like to fish?" was my opening question to Keira. "Or is it something that your Dad took you to kicking and screaming?" Her eyes get bright. "I do," she said, "and I always have." As she was answering, she reached over and gently adjusted her father's fishing hat. All three of us were about to spend two hours on Lake Erie together. Courtney has been fishing since his uncle took him to a farmer's pond in Vermilion when he was 10. He's 45 now. Keira is 20. She's the only child of Courtney and his wife, Andrea. Keira's first fishing adventure with her daddy, and she still calls him daddy, was when she was 3. "She was always a real girly girl," Courtney said, "so I thought this (fishing) was something I could do with her." Courtney is sitting on a monopod seat on the front of his Tracker Classic XL fishing boat and Keira is on the back end of the 16-foot welded aluminum vessel. I'm in the middle, perfectly placed to witness the interaction as they fish and talk. One of their very first fishing trips was at Findley State Park in Wellington. "He told me to cast my line and then count in my head to 10 before I started to reel it back in, slowly," she said. "I still count down in my head." Courtney picks up the story. "After a couple of minutes, she screams 'Daddy.' I looked down, and she had a fish." Keira was hooked. This isn't a fishing story Keira was born at 2:48 a.m. Nov. 11, 2004, at Elyria Memorial Hospital. "The night she was born," said Courtney, "there was a huge outbreak of the northern lights and the sky was a very bright green." Courtney was nervous. "When she was born, all I could think about was protecting her. Even now, I'm always thinking of ways I can protect her." We're all alone in the water. The clear sky turns Lake Erie a bermuda blue and the sound of the fishing line as it's cast out is noticeable. It's that peaceful. The white gulls in the distance start to circle and dive in the water. Keira points to the gulls and says there must be fish over there. "I really just love being able to be with my daddy," she said. "It's relaxing and I love to talk to him." Courtney turned toward his daughter and said, "I wouldn't claim her to be an outdoorsy girl, but she will go fishing with me." One of Keira's first rods was a Barbie rod. "It was all pink," she said proudly. "It was a whole thing. Barbie tackle box. Everything. Everything was pink. I loved it." The Great Blue Heron is listening. It stands, legs long and skinny, within earshot on the breakwall. The heron is doing the same thing Courtney and Keira are doing. Waiting for a fish. I asked them both to tell me how fishing reflects life. "Patience," Keira said. "That's what comes to me. Learning to wait is always a good trait to have and I'm still very impatient, but I am learning to just live in the moment." Under his camouflage gray bucket hat, Courtney leans in. "Learning. I think of learning. Learning and perseverance. I hope I'm a lifelong learner and I know that life has challenges. We all face 'em. Learning how to figure out stuff and persevere, whether it's out here or in life, that's pretty important." When your line hits Courtney flicks his wrist and his Dobyns rod flexes. The line flies 20 yards out and his twister tail lure falls into the water. Keira and her dad fish for both food and sport. They keep the walleye and the perch. "That's good eating there," Courtney said. They throw back the large and smallmouth bass, white bass and everything else. "Do you compete with your dad out here?" I ask Keira. "Only in my head," she said. "I never tell him I'm trying to do better than him. Mostly, I just want to be able to say, 'Oh, Daddy, look how far my cast went." Courtney's line hits. "The thump," he said. "When the fish hits my bait, it's a rush. I live for the thump. Having one on is fun." On the end of the line is a largemouth bass. "This is about building memories," he said. "Plus, she knows what a lot of girls don't. How to fish." Keira pinches her left shoulder to her chin and she smiles at me, proudly. "What's your dad know?" I asked. "A lot, but," she said. "He doesn't know a lot about boys." That line was a tantalizing lure for me, so I bit. "He interviews any boy I'm interested in." Courtney turned his attention away from his line in the water for a moment and said, "It's actually more of an interrogation." Now I'm really hooked. "What kind of questions do you ask young men interested in your daughter?" He's got a list. Where are you from? Who is your family? What are their last names? Then he cast out this question, actually it's a directive. "If you have plans to get her pregnant and then leave, this is the wrong girl. I'm the wrong man." Courtney is a very nice man. He is a gentleman, in every way. But. "I want them to be afraid of me." I get it. Painted toenails and strawberries We are inside the breakwall where the water is easy. A sailboat starts its journey and its white sail is beautiful in the late afternoon sun. Rods and reels, with people on the end of each, line the mile long pier in Lorain as we slowly move by. The Lighthouse sits confidently, as it has since 1917. "It's just so nice to be with him," Keira said. "I like spending time just with him. Just me and my dad. I'm a very jealous daughter." Courtney and Keira each have a sweet tooth. "Strawberries," she said. "My dad loves anything strawberry. We go on daddy and daughter dates in search of shakes, ice cream, cakes and pies." Keira is wearing flip flops as she casts her line. I notice her toenails are painted. The tip of each toenail is painted a different color. They are light shades of purple, blue, orange, green and pink. "Did you ever paint your dad's toenails?" Keira said she had never asked. "I probably would've done it," her dad said. "But she could've asked me to do anything when she was little, and I would've said, sure." Girl Dad. Nothing better. Contact Ron Jantz at rjantz@chroniclet.com.