For FishingMagician.com, I'm Eric Granstrom. The wait seemed like forever. It had been hours since I'd last seen him that morning and I couldn't wait until he got home. I was just tall enough to see out the front window of the house. I vividly remember the taste of the wooden windowsill as I nervously chewed on it awaiting his arrival. I could hear muffled tire tread on the paved street outside and feel my pulse quickening believing he was coming. But no, just the mailman. Then, finally, I saw the familiar flash of the front spokes of his bicycle. His blue, nylon jacket fluttered in the breeze behind him as he pedaled my direction, making him seem even more superhero-like. It was my brother. My hero. Finally arriving home from school as my four-year-old self stood in the window, anxiously waiting for his arrival every afternoon. He was ten and the coolest guy on the block. On this particular day, we were to head out fishing for the weekend. I raced around the house like a madman, excitedly telling Mom Shawn was home. She calmly tried to explain that I'd have to wait longer, because Dad was driving. Until next time, Good Fishing!