As we drove home, wet from the rain, he told me he felt bad that I sat on the bank while he fished.  He wondered why I didn’t join him.  “I didn’t mind,” I said.  “I was cold and damp and it was good to sit under the tree for a bit.”  I couldn’t find the words to tell my son that watching him in this place, as his line danced over the water, was more than I could ever have needed in that moment.