“What are the fish doing down here?” I asked my
nine-year-old brother, Tim. His fishbowl with two swimming goldfish sat nearby
on the living room table.
“They’re watching television with me.”
Our dog, Duke, had died only a week before, and the fish
were the only pets we had left. We were all a little lonely without Duke. Smart
dog. Good dog. His death left a hole in our home.
“What are you watching, Tim?”
“Sponge Bob.”
“That’s about sea creatures. Do you think the fish like the
program?”
“Yup.”
“Be careful bringing them back upstairs to your room.”
“Yup.”
The next morning was a Saturday. I got up late. When Tim
came to the breakfast table, he looked sad, almost crying.
“What’s the matter?”
“One of my fish died.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you do anything different?”
“No.”
“Where is it now?”
“In a baggie.”
“Zipped closed, I hope.”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to throw it away?”
“No. Bury it.”
“I’ll help you in a minute.”
I finished my coffee, grabbed a shovel from the shed, and
went with Tim to a far corner of our back yard.
“Here, OK?”
“Yup.”
I dug down about a foot. Tim laid the bagged goldfish at
the bottom of the pit, and we put the dirt back on top. Tim had a flat stone
with the letter “F” written on it, and he placed it on top of the grave.
“Tim, what’s the ‘F’ for? Fish?”
“Fred.”
When Tess asked me what our little brother had been doing,
I told her. She started to laugh at the burial and the stone. I warned her not
to let Tim know she was not taking his loss seriously. To Tim, Fred had been
very important.
Moral: Being
trustworthy isn't just about telling the truth. Sometimes it means protecting
someone's feelings when they've trusted you with them.
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