The Golden(fish) Rule
Some years ago, more than I would like to remember, a yearly event once again came to town. The carnival was here. You could always tell it was coming. Neighbors warn each other. Then our kids start making plans. Parents decide which night they would drive and chaperone. My two boys Woody and Matt suddenly want to help me with everything. “Dad, I can help you with that”? “Dad, please let me help”. We saw that the carnival energized work habits in our house and the whole neighborhood kicked into gear.
Like a well-oiled machine some of the older kids and, I suspect, the moms got together and worked out their plan of attack. Start with a car wash thing, then make it mobile. Kids show up at your door, buckets and rags in hand. All the cleaning gear they could carry, “Clean and wash your car. Mr. Miller?” “Awww please, two bucks pleazeeee. Lawns done, weeding and everything for two bucks.” I yelled “Monopoly! I see price fixing on the horizon!”
What I didn’t see coming was Ralph. Goldfish never meant much to me until the carnival. They’d staple them in plastic bags on a booth board as prizes for knocking over fuzzy dolls with a ball. Of course, goldfish weren’t the only prizes. For my oldest boy Woody it was the John Wayne plates, belt buckles and pictures and I still have a few. My youngest boy Matt, though, was determined to heave those balls and win a goldfish. I say “heave” because Matt could not throw yet. We would practice in the backyard trying to line things up but no matter what he aimed at, he couldn’t get close. Give it time Matt. Dad loves you. It’s okay. It’ll come.
The afternoon came and the young kids chaperoned by moms and the older kids headed out to the carnival. The story told to me when I retumed home from work was “Dad, you should’ve seen Matt!". Balls were heaved everywhere and somehow short of exhaustion Matt knocked down three dolls and now I’m looking at Ralph, the goldfish in a plastic bag - not swimming but kind of fluttering on his side. This was not a good sign. “Dad we need a fish tank and food for a place for Ralph to live”. He argued for the bathtub until we built him a home, but the best thing we could do was a washed out one gallon pickle jar.
So Ralph was settled into his new home. But things don’t look good. Not much movement. In the morning. Ralph wasn’t swimming anymore. Matt didn’t take it well. We had little ceremony out in the backyard, buried Ralph the Goldfish, put some rocks as markers. I talked to Matt about where good goldfish like Ralph go and that Ralph was in God’s hands.
But Matt vowed never to carnival again - Would not look at Woody’s prize plates. His heaving days were over. He just sulked - in a few days he was back to his usual self. It took time to heal and the support and understanding of his friends and family to help him get over the loss of Ralph.
Every day we await a new set of events, some good and some not so good. Too often we hear “get over it”, “what’s wrong with you”, and “move on” not much in the way of empathy. People need understanding and support when hard times hit: not a forever pity party but time to heal. Good friends make that possible. The good Lord says love one another as I love you. He said it best: Empathy.
- Woody Miller, Legionnaires Chaplain