Fish Tale

My wife just returned from an extended weekend in Florida. While she was away, I was responsible for feeding the kids, the cats, and the fish. I also had to make sure the boys got where they needed to be. She left Thursday morning and got back Monday afternoon. During that time, one or both boys needed to be at: a piano lesson; a saxophone lesson; a tae-kwon-do lesson; a tae-kwon-do test; a saxophone recital; a graduation party; church; and, of course, school.

With so much going on, I was a little worried I might forget or miss something. The fish was a particular concern, since he doesn't squawk if you don't feed him. The cats and the boys are pretty good at letting me know they are hungry. The fish just swims around in his own little world, hardly seeming to acknowledge us at all. Because, of this concern, I made it my mission to remember the fish. I worked his feeding into my routine, determined to not forget him.

By Sunday morning, I was feeling pretty good about how well we'd managed without Mom around. By midday, most of the scheduled activities were behind us, having been successfully attended. I was feeling confident enough that I'd actually okay-ed N's request to have a friend over for a few hours. "Sure, send another kid my way, I've got it handled."

Then, as I was preparing a delicious grilled cheese sandwich/tomato soup lunch, I happened to glance at the fish. Instead of drifting about the tank in his usual pattern, he was fairly motionless at the bottom of the tank. "Strange," I thought, "I've never seen him do that before." I'd also never seen him float upside down, which I noticed he was also now doing. My first thought, upon seeing this was, "Stupid fish, you'd better be sleeping." But, I knew that fish didn't sleep upside down. The fish was dead.

Immediately, I ran through the previous night's activities. I remembered feeding him - right before I fed the cats. Nothing seemed unusual - he seemed energetic and excited to be fed, just like most nights. In truth, I kind of liked feeding the fish. It seemed like the only time when he was even remotely aware of our existence. I was pretty certain that I had followed proper protocol regarding the care of the fish. Still, I felt a cloud of suspicion forming around me. The fish was dead and somehow it was my fault. Stupid fish.

The fish came into our lives when B brought him home from school. In fifth grade, the kids study goldfishes in class and, if you're lucky and you're parents agree, you get to bring one home after the session is done. I wasn't sure how the boys would take the death. The fish isn't like our other pets - he's more like a living decoration that provides a little color and movement to one corner of the room. I waited until the boys were seated at the counter for lunch. "The fish is dead." I said as I handed B his sandwich, "It's not my fault."

B looked over at the tank and nodded. "Well, four years is a pretty long time for a goldfish" he said, before dunking his sandwich in his soup.

"Humph!", N scowled at the fish tank. N has been bitter for a couple of weeks now because some poor planning has meant his fifth grade class won't have time to do the fish lesson. "If my teacher could have stayed on schedule, I'd have a replacement fish for that tank", he grumbled.

I left the fish in the tank and we continued with the last of our scheduled events. Later that night, I happened to glance over at the tank and I saw an orange shape moving around the tank. Maybe fish do sometimes sleep upside down, I thought. Sadly, upon closer inspection, I found that I'd left the aerator on and the fish had bloated enough to become buoyant  The little guy was caught in the current from the aerator, careening from one end of the tank to the other in a little ellipse.

As I watched the fish corpse moving about the tank, it occurred to me that if I hadn't told the boys he was dead, they probably wouldn't have noticed. This dead fish was acting a lot like our live fish did - and I no longer had to worry about feeding it. I let him have a couple more laps then I unplugged the aerator and stopped the show.

On Monday, I announced that we needed to have a fish funeral. "You mean the toilet?" N asked with a certain glee that made me uncomfortable.

"No," I replied. "We'll bury him in the backyard. Not flush him down the toilet."

I cut up a cereal box and fashioned it into a small casket. The boys and I went in the back yard, dug a hole and solemnly laid him to rest, giving him more attention in death than we had for a long time in life.