I was in the market the other day and overheard a young child ask her mother where babies came from. I remembered when my children asked me this question, I thought of the myths and the confusion I felt as a result so I told them the truth and got them guppies so they could see for themselves (guppies have babies every three weeks!). I tried this when my youngest granddaughter, who lived with me then, asked me the same question. I explained in terms she would understand, set up the smallest of three tanks I wasn’t using and the next day took her to the pet shop to buy guppies.
When we got there my three-year-old granddaughter excitedly ran to the fish aisle. I caught up to her just as she turned the corner and there against the wall of tanks was a small tank filled with small goldfish on my granddaughter’s eye level. There were what seemed to be about a million fish swimming back and forth across the length of the small tank. As we stepped into the aisle, one of them stop swimming and turned to face the front of the tank. At the same time my granddaughter saw the fish and exclaimed, “Dorothy!” (Elmo on Sesame Street’s pet fish). She ran to the tank and as the two of them stared at each other nose to nose through the glass, asked if we could buy Dorothy. It was love at first sight; I envisioned small hearts circling their heads.
Now let me say this: I have always loved fish and had great success keeping them alive and healthy, even saltwater, and believe me, saltwater fish are hard to keep. Every fish I ever had flourished and brought me great joy and I rarely had a problem keeping them alive, even if they got sick. Except goldfish. I have never been able to keep a goldfish alive for more than two or three days, for some reason they always die shortly after I get them home, or a few days later ( a sense of mercy for the fish finally made me stop buying them after the fourth or fifth one died). So, when my kids won goldfish at carnivals, we made a big deal out of giving them to my great aunt who can keep them alive for years (so long in fact that a few years ago when she told me one off her fish had died [probably of old age], before I thought about it, I said “It’s about time!” as I struggled to remember how many decades had passed since I gave it to her. This careless remark upset my great aunt so much I thought she would never speak to me in anything but mono phrases again, but that is another story).
Reluctantly, I agreed to buy Dorothy. My granddaughter was glued to the tank and by the time I snagged a salesperson who happened to amble by, two more fish had stopped to watch my granddaughter. “Nemo!” she exclaimed, “And his dad Marlon! Can we get them too?” A feeling of dread passed over me. What was I going to do if these goldfish died? I hadn’t kept fish since we moved into our new home; my beautiful saltwater fish had not survived the hair raising ride in the back of my son in law’s pickup truck. But I didn’t have the heart to interfere with true love so we got all three of the fish. I forgot about the guppies. My granddaughter proudly carried her new pets to the car. Now all I had to do was get them home alive. And keep them that way.
Once we pulled off I remembered we didn’t have goldfish food. We stopped at Walmart to get some and as we came out of the store the goldfish’s bag sprung a leak. Luckily a woman in the parking lot saw it and offered us a vase she happened to have in her car. We managed to make it home with no further problems.
