Recipe for Disaster

Fish for Dinner

The fish evaded his little hand at first, but he was willing to wait. Besides, there weren’t too many places the poor fish could hide in such a small space… Unlike yesterday when the fish dove deeper or swam under a branch for cover.

“Patience is the key,” Dad reminded him. “Sit, quietly. Don’t play in the water. Don’t talk. Just be patient.” 

So he waited. And waited. And waited some more. 

“How long has it been, Dad?” he asked, feeling like hours had passed. “Just a couple of minutes, little fella. It’s going to take some time, so get comfortable. You have to wait for the fish to bite.” Dad tapped the brim of Tommy’s baseball cap. The boat rocked, gently back and forth as he tried to keep his balance while remaining still. He imagined what the fish were doing beneath the boat. 

Tommy could see what this fish was doing. He stared at it through the glass bowl. It was swimming, and swimming, and swimming… “Wait for it…” he whispered to himself. The fish was sluggish. It was haggard from maneuvering to avoid his clasp for so long. It slowed just enough for him to wrap his pudgy, three-year-old fingers around it. He pulled it out of the bowl splashing water over the dresser.

“I think I got it! Dad, I think I got a fish!” His excitement bubbled over with squeals of delight. Finally, his patience paid off. There it was! His fish. “Can we have a fish fry for dinner, Dad?“

“Yes,” Dad responded, smiling.

The Perfect Setup for Fishing and Frying

He was impressed that his sister’s room was such a good setup for fishing and frying. She had it all! The fish in a bowl on the dresser, a small play stove top, pots and pans, and even a plastic sink to wash his hands. Though ecstatic, he meticulously took his time climbing down from the dresser. He used the drawers as steps, navigating with one hand because the other held his tiny, wiggling treasure. Below, his sister’s plastic frying pan was ready for the fish.

Tommy opened a small drawer beside the play oven, searching for a spatula. He remembered the one Dad used to fry the fish the day before. After finding one like it, he closed the drawer and pushed the fish around the pan. The fish slowly stopped squirming. Tommy smiled, pleased with his cooking skills. 

Just then, Dad walked in. Proudly, Tommy looked up with his big, beautiful brown eyes…  “You’re in time for the fish fry, Daddy. I caught a goldfish and cooked it all by myself.”

Forget the Fish; Can I have a New Brother?

I’m glad I wasn’t my dad at that moment. I mean, what do you do? Your brain says, “Oh no! No, no, no, no, no.” But your heart says, “Awwww. Look at my little guy trying to be just like me. Isn’t that adorable?”  While simultaneously blocking out the neon sign flashing in your brain: “My daughter is going to flip her lid! Her brother pretend-fried her goldfish. Do I tell her the truth?”

I’ll be honest: I was mortified to find out my goldfish died at the hands of my little brother. As a matter of fact, I requested a new brother in lieu of a new goldfish. Since that didn’t happen, time was the only thing left to mend old wounds. It’s only now, years later, that I can see the situation from a different perspective. From several different perspectives, actually.

The Perfect Fishing Spot

I hate to admit this, but I can identify with my little brother! I understand why he thought he could go fishing. There, in his own house, is the most obvious fishing hole…right in his sister’s bedroom. He follows Dad’s instructions just like he did at the lake and patiently waits for the fish to swim by. And lo and behold, his patience pays off, and he catches a fish! Naturally, he has to cook it. I wonder if my brother thought, “Dad was right – teach a man to fish and you’ll feed him for life.”

I realized my brother had no idea he murdered my pet. He thought he was doing the same thing we did at the lake the day before. No one got into trouble the day before. Plus, Tommy took initiative to make dinner. Who doesn’t love a guy who cooks?

Caught in the Grip of a Stronger Power

I can also imagine what the poor fish must have thought. It minds its business, paddling happily in its little fish bowl. Next thing it knows, it’s splashing for his life, trying to avoid the giant hand that’s plunged itself into its sacred space. But it gets tired, slows down, and is eventually caught in the grip of a stronger power. Honestly, the tiny fish didn’t have a chance.

At times, I see myself that way, too. I feel overwhelmed with fear and grow weary, fighting forces I don’t understand.

A Parent’s Perspective

Last but not least, I see the perspective of the parent. I see the excitement and innocence in my son’s eyes. But I also see the unintended outcome of my child’s actions. Who will pay the consequences of fishing in a no-fishing zone? How severe should the consequences be? And perhaps the biggest issue: this innocent mistake left a victim with a dead pet. Can there be reconciliation, and if so, how?

Here is what I’d be thinking, as the parent in this fiasco:

• Put the dead fish back in the bowl, grab my son, and close the door… Like it never even happened!
• Punish him, hoping he learns his lesson and will never fish in his sister’s room again.  Buy his sister a new fish, and never breathe a word of this incident to anyone.
• Laugh and give him a fist bump because how clever was it for him to climb up the dresser to go fishing? Tell his sister that pets die…get over it.
• Pull up a chair and pretend to eat his fresh catch with him. Then, discuss what to say to his sister when she gets home from school. 
• Talk to him about how his actions hurt the fish and his sister (and could’ve hurt him, climbing up the dresser), and explain that he will have to apologize to his sister and buy her a new fish.

Well, my dad chose option 2. He spanked Tommy. After that, he bought me a new fish and pretended like it was my old fish (like I couldn’t tell). In hindsight, Dad admits he should’ve handled it differently. But parenting is hard, and you don’t always make the right-est decision in your moment of despair.

WWJD with a Dead Goldfish?

I know it’s a silly thought, but just for kicks, I wonder what Jesus would’ve done in this scenario. If this happened during Biblical times, would Jesus heal the fish like he healed the leper? Would he raise it from the dead as he did with Lazarus? Maybe turn this incident into a teachable moment and offer a pertinent parable? Could he multiply my fish like when he fed the horde of hungry people who wanted to hear him preach? Any of those options would transform my grieving into a celebration! And who doesn’t like a celebration?

I Question God

On a serious note, I’m still that little girl who lost her pet goldfish. When my brother (or some other fool) hurts me, whether accidental or purposeful, I question God the way I wanted to question my dad that day. “Hey, what are you going to do to fix this unfair situation? Are you going to punish my brother who hurt me? Will you ignore it or lie about it? Are you going to pat me on the head and say, “Easy come easy go?” Is my misery going to be overlooked so someone else can learn from their mistake?”

God answers me. His answer: “You’re asking the wrong questions.”

God’s Answer

Now, juvenile me would not like that answer. But adult me – – I get it.

Our perfect heavenly father, understanding every perspective – – the innocent being guilty, the helplessness of a fight we can’t win, the weight of an impossible decision – – responds with Jesus. Through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, we are shown grace, mercy, forgiveness, and redemption.

What a good Father we have to give us, Jesus. Regardless of maturity, age, motives, mistakes, or circumstances, Jesus embodies everything we need to know to show our father’s perfect love.

Fortunately for my brother, it’s clear that Jesus expects me to extend this love to pet-murdering siblings. And so, here it is: I love you, Tom. Grace and peace. But stay away from my kitchen and my pets.