I Love My Emotionally Stunted Friendships

This spring, a few weeks before the fishing season began in earnest, I went over to a buddy’s house with a six-pack and a bucket full of beaten-up lures. We sat at his kitchen table, swapping out rusty hooks as we talked about new spots we wanted to try, gear we’d bought over the winter, and the all-important question: When would the first striped bass arrive near us on their annual northward migration? A few hours in, my friend mentioned something his wife had said before I came over: “You…