ONE FISH TWO FISH

Eileen Cichello

"One fish

   two fish

 red fish

   blue fish."

So says Dr. Suess. 

Cichellos have a different take on it.  It goes:

"One fish, two fish

Big fish, huge fish."

It all began some years ago when our seven adult children put their heads together to figure out what to give their father for Christmas.  This is no easy task!  If you ask Sam what he'd like for a gift, the answer is invariably "socks" or "A tie would be great."  No one asks him any more.

After much debate and many long distance calls, the consensus was to give him a fish tank, a fairly big fish tank.  He'd had some fish years before and seemed to enjoy them.  So on this particular Christmas, the kids presented Sam with a large tank and all the equipment necessary to run one.  He promptly went out and purchased several pretty little goldfish and some small, round, black fish.  They swam happily around in the clear water, a pleasing, attractive sight.

Unfortunately, they weren't little for long.  Several times a day, Sam had this compulsion to feed them.  Soon, the water was cloudy, the fish obese.  Comments such as, "Wow!  Look at those fish!"  "They're huge!" began to be heard.

Sam ignored the comments.  He valiantly cleaned and cleaned and cleaned the fish tank.  He bought those little scavenger fish that stay on the bottom of the tank and supposedly eat all the debris.  They couldn't keep up.  He bought snails to aid in the cleanup.

Sam developed a close relationship with his fish, greeting them with "Hi, girls," when he fed them.  When we left for a weekend, Sam left a note for our son, instructing him as follows: "Tap on the side of the tank and say 'Hello girls'.  They like that.  Then feed them."

After several years, the fish began to display health problems.  One of them no longer swam upright but instead, got around on its back and side. Another one lost an eye.  When one of them would look like it was ready to depart this world, Sam would put it in a bowl of salt water. This bowl became known as "the hospital suite."  Sam's fish had extremely extended lives, due no doubt to this hospital suite.  They got to look increasingly disreputable and grungy.

 One weekly visitor to our house left the following note on the cloudy fish tank, "Why don't you flush them?"  On her next visit, a note awaited her, "How would you like to be flushed?"

Our grandchildren really loved the fish.  When they were babies, if they were fussy, a trip to the fish tank would quiet them as they looked in fascination at the swimmers.  As they got older, they'd run to the fish tank soon after their arrival in the house.

The first group of fish eventually died and was replaced by another group of tiny delicate fish.  Same thing happened.  They grew and they grew and they grew.  One of them was a particularly obnoxious bully, who regularly backed his more timid companion into the corners of the tank or swam over him in such a way as to force him to the bottom.

As time wore on, there were frequent suggestions made by guests as to how to prepare and cook fish.  Sam ignored all this and cleaned and fed and cleaned.  The crud continued to build up in the tank.  Finally, thank heavens, the pump gave out.

Sam hunted for a new home for his "girls."  He checked out Wally Meier, the local art teacher, who has a pond in his yard.  He asked Wally for character references.  Wally declared he had no room in his pond for Sam's fish.  Sam looked some more and found a home for them in Pat Whitman's pond.

Pat has promised Sam she will send him pictures.