One of my favorite places to enjoy a cold drink on a sunny afternoon is a community park that I pass in my travels. In the park, there is a small lake and it is often visited by the nearby residents as they feed waterfowl and fish.

Some nice wooden benches are strategically spaced around the water's edge, and I frequently see the local youngsters with their fishing rods casting from one of these home bases. There is something about a kid casting a bobber or heavy lead weight into a pond that appeals to my sense of order in the universe.

Eventually, the two worlds of old men and young boys collide because of our mutual interest in fishing.

I watched the three amigos, as I named them because of their bond in this activity. If you saw one, you saw all three.

They were a friendly group and I estimated their ages to range from 11 to 13. Their equipment was a hodgepodge and their fishing techniques were definitely self-taught.

Nevertheless, they had some success with the numerous pan fish, an occasional carp and catfish.

The big breakthrough came one fateful day when the leader of the bunch cast out an old, chewed up plastic bait and caught a foot-long largemouth bass. You never saw such whooping and carrying on as they celebrated a fishing breakthrough.

I hadn't seen the boys for a while and I wondered if they had lost interest. I sat on one of the benches and noticed a great deal of activity in the shallows as hungry bass chased frogs and minnows up to the shoreline.

Maybe because I was engrossed with the activity I didn't notice that a youngster walked to my bench and then ploped down with a book in his hands. It was an encyclopedia of sport fishing and it was held by the friendly kid who often fished that pond.

He asked me if I wanted to see his grandfather's book and the silence told me the rest. He had a tackle box full of classic bass lures and we looked over a hula popper that was the same color as the pond's frogs.

I told him to get his rod and I'd show him how to work the popper.

In no time the young angler was back with his equipment and we tied the hula popper on the line. I cast his popper along the shore and let it twitch to life.

Within two or three short twitches, the water boiled as a bass threw the popper into the air.

The kid eagerly took over the rod and I watched him duplicate my actions parallel to the water's edge. He worked his way around the pond before stopping to ask me if I wanted to walk with him.

I followed at a distance and told him to stay back far enough to avoid spooking the bass. It was about the time that he made a fresh cast and a slight twitch and gurgle that a hawg bass decided to strike. The water exploded as the fish tail-walked into the surface as it was firmly hooked by the boy's popper.

The fight went on for several minutes and the kid brought to shore one of the finest bass I've seen in a long time.

I was thrilled that the mini-lure presentation paid off, but I found that my role wasn't over yet. The boy implored me to help him land the fish.

I was in office clothes and I had no net, but a man has to do his duty and I went to the marshy edge of the pond. The fish came toward the shore and I reached out and tried to lip that beast twice before I secured him.

He was a heavy fish and his raspy mouth shredded the skin on my thumb, but I didn't let go of the trophy. The kid dropped his pole and ran for a pair of pliers to remove the lure. I was able to do the job without much difficulty and the fish was handed over to the lad.

One of his amigos arrived and took a picture with a camera phone before the successful young angler slipped the bass back into the water.

Something told me that generations were brought a little closer when an old man and a young boy learned much that day.