How a sporting goods employee made my uncle feel seen
In the fishing aisle, he was seen not as a diagnosis, but simply as Brandon
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The fishing aisle at Bass Pro Shops was the last place I expected to leave with a memory I’ll never forget.
My Uncle Brandon and I were getting ready for one of his favorite escapes: a fishing trip. Long before Parkinson’s disease entered our lives, fishing was one of the ways he recharged. Alongside hunting, it gave him an excuse to spend a day outdoors, joke with his sons and friends, and enjoy the kind of peace that only comes from sitting beside the water with a fishing pole in hand. As his Parkinson’s progressed, I noticed he wanted to go even more. Looking back, I think fishing gave him something the disease couldn’t take away: familiarity.
This trip wasn’t simply about replacing old equipment. His tremors had become more noticeable, and he wanted to find an electric fishing reel, an adaptive device that could make casting and reeling easier while allowing him to continue enjoying the sport he loved. To Uncle Brandon, it wasn’t about finding an easier way out. It was about finding another way forward.
We searched aisle after aisle but couldn’t find the reel he had in mind, so I flagged down an employee for help. I noticed the employee glance toward my uncle before looking back at me. Before I could answer a single question, Uncle Brandon reached out his hand.
“The name’s Brandon. How ya doin’?”
I mostly stood there smiling. I was proud, but also intentional about staying in the background. This wasn’t my conversation to lead; it was his. Within seconds, they were talking like two fishermen who had crossed paths a hundred times before, comparing reels, debating brands, and swapping stories from time spent on the water. For several minutes, Parkinson’s wasn’t leading the conversation. Fishing was.
Taking a step back
Walking out of Bass Pro Shops, I found myself replaying the interaction in my mind. The employee hadn’t ignored my uncle’s Parkinson’s. He simply chose not to make it the most interesting thing about him.
Before he was someone living with Parkinson’s, he was Brandon. A fisherman. A hunter. A man who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn’t shy about asking for it.
Watching that conversation unfold reminded me that sometimes the greatest gift we can give the people we love isn’t speaking for them. It’s making room for them to speak for themselves.
As caregivers, it’s natural to step in. We answer questions before they’re asked. We anticipate needs before they’re voiced because we love the people we care for. But every now and then, there’s beauty in taking one small step back.
That afternoon, I never had to answer a single question. Uncle Brandon already had it covered.
Looking back, I don’t even remember which reel he ultimately chose. What I remember is the way he carried himself, strutting out of the store. Maybe I imagined it. Or maybe there really was something quietly empowering about spending an afternoon being seen not as a diagnosis, but simply as Brandon. A man preparing for another day on the lake.
And somehow, I think that’s exactly how he would’ve wanted to be remembered.
Note: Parkinson’s News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or another qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Parkinson’s News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to Parkinson’s disease.
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