Patch+JG

The Patch A Response by Joanne Goodall

I am almost in tears. I would have been if I was at home reading The Patch alone on the sofa, but I am quietly reading at James Dunn Hall's computer lab.

The Patch shows an entirely different side of John McPhee that I have never come across before. John (I feel it is appropriate to call him by his first name due to the nature of this article) usually acts as observer in his stories, very rarely showing his personality or emotions other than his sense of humor. In The Patch, John tells the story of his father dying from a terrible stroke that left him paralyzed and unable to speak in the hosptial and John's love for fishing which began with his dad. John didn't have to say that he was mad, upset, sad, or content because you could tell it through the tone of his sentences and his choice of images. I will give some examples....

At the beginning, you learn more about fishing pickerl, one of John's favorite fish to catch, and you learn about the places he goes to fish on his canoe. He usually fishes with his friend, but you don't really pay attention to his friend as a character like you would in most of John's writing- but that character is truly himself. You can easily picture in your mind what The Patch looks like- full of lillypads and weeds along the edges of the lake. It feels so serene, so calming and relaxing. "...and soon we were calling it not a patch but The Patch. We scouted the lily pads of other bays, and fished every one of them, but always came back to The Patch. It was the home shore, running from a sedge fen off the tip of a neighboring island and along a white-pine forest on the mainland to the near side of another island."

You don't find out about John's father until the middle of the piece. He learns of his father's health when he returned one day from a fishing trip. He then sends you to imagine himself, his elderly mother, his brother and wife jammed into a small hospital and a doctor yammering to them about his father's path to death. You can feel John's frustration and hatred to for the doctor. He knew it was the doctor's job but he kept looking back to his mother and seeing the blank look on her face and began to loathe him. "Wordlessly, I said to him, "You fucking bastard." My father may not have been comprehending, but my mother was right there before him, and his words, like everything else in those hours, were falling upon her and dripping away like rain."

I was also surprised by his choice to include curse words. I always thought John to be more like a Santa Claus then a man of emotion. He included fucking bastard which illustrated his hate towards the doctor. You later find out another reason to why he hated doctors, because his father's mother died because of a doctor's mistake leaving his father to hate hospitals and doctors. But now, he is in one. A sad ending to who sounds to be a loving man. John also uses a quote from Genio C. Scott who said this about fishing pickerel, "You will find cause for surprise that will force you to ejaculate." I literally had to reread the sentence twice because I couldn't believe that John said ejaculate. The John. Wow.

The adventures him and his father had fishing, which describes in full detail, reminded me of the good ol' days where my father would take me out fishing. I even got my very own fishing rod from the Easter Bunny and boy was I ever eager to take it out! And that I did, and the very first cast I made I threw the damn rod right into the pond! My father wasn't too pleased but, seeing how upset I was for losing my prized rod, him and his brother both helped to fish it out. The rod was a bit rusty after that, but to 10 year old me, I thought it was the best thing since sliced bread. That is why I almost cried after reading this article.

"On the way home, he let me "drive." I sat in his lap and steered--seat belts an innovation not yet innovated. These are my fondest memories of my father, his best way of being close, and I therefore regret all the more that my childhood love of fishing fell away in my teen-age years, and stayed away, in favor of organized sports and other preoccupations."

That is exactly what happened to me. I regret throwing away my rod, even though my mother insisted that it didn't work anymore and it was taking up space. I wish I still had it. The shiney, cold metal would feel great in my hands on a cool, crisp lake with the summer breeze in my hair fishing trout with my dad.