I had a Beta fish...

I had a Beta fish...

I had a beta fish when I was a little kid. I think he was my first pet. He was blue and had a long flowing tail. He lived alone in a small fish bowl. Beta fish are such good fighters that they have to be quarantined to their own bowl or else they’ll kill the other fish around them. If you put two Beta in the same bowl, then you’ll end up with two dead fish. I still remember the day I found him. He was laying lifeless in my lego box. There were drops of water splattered all over the happy multi colored blocks. My beta fish had jumped out of his bowl. Was it a moment of insanity? A suicide attempt brought on by the sadness of being the lone fish in his fishbowl. I may never know. Thankfully my young mind was too simple to consider any of this. I was just sad. At 25, I decided to try again, so I bought another beta. I kept him in a bowl at my Dad’s house where I was living at the time. I named him Vincent, which means “overcomer”. He kept guard over the house when I was gone. Beta are a vicious and vigilant breed of fish. It was about a week later that I packed up and decided to move to Boston. I came in the house one last time before I left and looked at Vince. I didn’t want to burden my Dad with him and I wanted to take him with me. But how? Then it hit me. Ziploc! I grabbed a ziplock bag and dumped Vincent and all the water from the bowl into the bag. I zipped it up and plopped the bag into the now empty bowl. I said goodbye to my father and put Vince on the dashboard of my blue Volvo. As I left my Dad said “You might wanna open that bag a little and give him some air.” This was his last little bit of fatherly advice before I headed off on my own. It was one of the few pieces of advice from my father I was willing to listen to. The bowl made the inside of my car feel like home, which was advantageous considering I spent nearly all of my time in Bosto living out of my car. I slept under an old quilt in the driver seat and dressed in layers to beat the northern chill. It was about the end of week one that I woke to find Vincent floating lifeless in his ziploc bag. That young sadness I felt returned. Although, this time I had the mind to wonder why and how. He seemed ok. I fed him consistently. Perhaps my ziploc bag concept was not the genius idea I thought it was. Feeling mostly sad and a little guilty, I dumped Vincent down a drain into the Boston sewer and said a final goodbye. He was good fish. At least he stayed in the bowl. I left Boston broke and hungry about a week later and went to Virginia where my mother lived. The apartment complex she was in was in a stir as the owners beside my mother were moving out and my mother was buying their larger apartment and selling hers. Amidst their moving the neighbors found themselves in a very similar position I was in when I packed up for Boston. What to do with their fish? They decided to give their beta to me as well as two other goldfish whom I named Lewis and Clark. I was overjoyed and a little confused. Why had three healthy fish been placed into the hands of a guy who had just days ago killed one by keeping him in a ziplock bag on the dashboard of his car? But, life is placed into willing but unprepared hands in hospitals all across the country every day. I don’t know about you, but I believe in God. Sometimes I don’t understand what He is thinking allowing something as fragile as a human life to be put in the hands of such unskilled individuals. I often find myself looking up with frustration at the heavens when I see the fruit of my mother and father’s parental shortcomings in my life. I often think “Why them?” But, slowly, with each dead fish, I’m starting to see parenting isn’t so easy. Maybe I should give Mom, Dad, and God a little slack.