The Ballad of Lucky the Fish

I'm only about 75 pages into the 1000+ page health care bill, so it might be a while before I can post about my thoughts there. In the interim, I give you the tale of 3 fish that touched our lives and our hearts last week.

St. Joe's church carnival, last Wednesday. Three kids with a penchant for games of chance but without the skill to procure stuffed blue bears or Hannah Montana posters find their way to the Fishbowl Toss. A seemingly simple game, but plenty of players had come and gone before them with nothing more than a frown and a dollar less in their pockets. Nevertheless, the fearless 3 made their way to the table and offered the barker their fare.

First up was young Molly, who took aim with the first of her five table tennis balls and barely reached the table that held a baker's dozen of small fishbowls. The second ball was somewhat more on track, but careened to the side harmlessly. The third toss was wildly off-line, yet somehow struck the side of the backboard, caromed back toward the fishbowls, and landed squarely into the middle bowl of the second row. Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

Next up, Owen, who had no problem reaching the table but couldn't get the bounces to go his way- until the last throw. Soft toss, one bounce, nothing but bowl. Winner number 2.

Then Brendan, who after watching his siblings hit paydirt thought he was in for a fish for sure. Alas, despite his best attempts, he was unable to find the bottom of the bowl with any of his tosses, so he went away empty handed- at least for the moment.

After they finished, Molly and Owen walked over to the side of the booth to claim their prizes. The kindly folks in the booth offered to hold the fish for a while while we rode some rides, but the excitement of winning was just too much for the young champions. They each were handed a large plastic bag- the contents of which being about a quart of water and a solitary goldfish- and were delighted to have them (...for about ten minutes, at which time said bags were handed off to the closest adult).

Back to Brendan, who initially dealt with his defeat at the fins of the fish well, but after seeing the spoils unto the victors decided that this game of chance was worth further investment. He proudly stepped up to the booth for a second go-around, offering yet another 8 bits to the fish peddler. Upon seeing the desire for victory in his eyes, she took mercy on the boy, and decided it was her and God's will that a fish be unto him, balls be damned. So after the last ball tossed landed harmlessly between two fishbowls, she proclaimed "It's good enough- you win!" Fish number 3, now proudly secured.

We walked around for a bit more, stopping to chat with several friends and acquaintances, some with fish of their own. After a bit though, a situation developed that demanded attention. It seems one of the first-to-be-acquired fish had risen to the occasion quite literally, and was now resting in a permanent state of quiescence at the top of his bag. The suggestion was made that we simply trade this fish back in to the fish peddler for one that seemed perhaps a bit more alive. A valid suggestion, to be sure, but the fish booth had been depleted of its stock. We waited patiently for reinforcements to arrive, but before they could, tragedy struck.

It was now apparent that Brendan's fish was also in full horizontal recline. Down to one fish, and with no replacement options in sight, the command decision was made to abandon the first two fish in the nearest trash receptacle and head home with the lone survivor.

After some protest by the shorter members of the family, I proclaimed that this fish belonged to no individual now, but to the family. "He shall belong to all of us, and he shall be called "Lucky", for he has survived the afflictions which have befallen his brethren".

Lucky came home and was transferred from his plastic-walled home into a luxurious 14"x16"x8" tank. He was offered the finest flakes in the house, and devoured them readily. All turned in for the night, with dreams of Lucky and prayers for his comrades.

But in the morning, before the rise of the sun (or the sons), Lucky's luck ran out. He was found motionless, floating along side a few uneaten Goldy Flakes, as peaceful as the morning itself. Molly was downstairs with me, just in time to witness Lucky make his final passage into his porcelain grave.

We still think of Lucky sometimes, and talk of the time we shared together. His tank has been cleaned and put away, waiting for perhaps a new friend to come along. There won't be another Lucky though- at least until next year's carnival.