Business Directory Special

My Son And The Fish

At the time, my son, Jacob, was still relatively new to our family. It had been just over a year since we had adopted him at age 5 and a half.

He was still in the process of assessing the dynamics and power balances in our family and where he fit into the overall scheme of things: who he had to listen to, what he could get away with, who was the soft touch. And he was a pretty quick learner, like all kids, I suppose - especially when it came to figuring out which side of the toast the jam was on.

It was a lazy summer Sunday afternoon and Mom was laying down in her bedroom having a nap.

Jacob and I were in the backyard, sitting on the patio in the shade of the big pine tree just outside Mom's bedroom window.

Jacob and I had been building a tree fort and we were taking a break, having a cold drink. I was idly whittling on a scrap piece of lumber. Jacob was watching me and then asked if he could try whittling, too.

So, I gave him the piece of wood and handed him the jack-knife.

I showed him how to hold the wood and how to hold the knife, cautioning him at the same time.

But, of course (yeah, yeah, I know, dumb dad), the knife slipped and he nicked his finger, just a small nick, a little drop of blood.

I said, "Oh, well, not a big deal" and used my shirt tail to blot off the little trickle of blood, and added, "These things happen but let's not tell Mom."

Then 3 things happened, almost instantaneously and also in such rapidfire succession as to appear to be simultaneous.

1. Jacob flashed me an assessing glance;

2. There was an almost audible click sound coming from somewhere inside his head;

3. And he yelled, "Mom, Mom", in what sounded to me like a theatrical and unnecessarily urgent tone.

Then some other things happened, also almost instantaneously, and also in such rapid-fire succession as to appear to be simultaneous.

1. Jacob flashed me another glance, this time with a mischievous "Gotcha" gleam in his eye;

2. Mom appeared beside us - elapsed time from napping on the bed to appearing at the side of her mortally wounded son: 1.73 nano-seconds.

3. Mom disappeared, re-appeared and applied a band-aid - slightly longer elapsed time of 2.54 nano-seconds; his betrayal, out of reach of the piercing death-stare glare lasering out from the stricken child's mother.

Total elapsed time of 4.27 nano-seconds.

The resulting hierarchy of family relations held sway for some period of time.

But Jacob, youthful neophyte that he was, made some mistakes, too. Youth and innocence are not always infallible predictors of "smart" - innocence is often sullied by the inexperience of youth - and that is when errors are made.

Mom was in a corner of the kitchen one morning, getting ready for work and searching for something in her briefcase.

The briefcase was on the floor and Mom was bent over it the way women do - bent over from the hips, knees locked and legs straight.

Dad was standing kitty-corner in the kitchen, getting ready for his own departure for work, patting his pockets in the sign of the cross, left to right and up and down (watch, wallet, spectacles, testicles) and casually watching Jacob.

Jacob was standing in the middle of the kitchen and was alternately turning his head to look at Mom and then back to look at me then back to looking at Mom again.

(I almost had a premonition of what was to come but just couldn't put it together fast enough to save him - honest!)

Mom was unaware of the visual scrutiny occurring behind her, and was still bent over, still looking in her briefcase. And Jacob says "Mom, how come you're smaller than Dad, but your butt is bigger?"

I suddenly remembered a meeting I was late for and had to rush off - I was reasonably confident that the situation would resolve itself quite suitably without my presence.

That's as much as I can tell you - the matter wasn't discussed further - I thought it best not to inquire.

And the hierarchy of family relations, ever dynamic, shifted once again. However, just so you know - I wasn't totally derelict in my responsibilities as a father.

I did try to reinforce that “learning moment” with my son.

Later that day, sitting next to him on the couch, I didn’t use words, I just assumed a look of quiet understanding, and showed him the picture I keep, as a ready reminder, in my wallet.

RM Review Distribution Area

The poor, dear, wounded lad was then wrapped up in his mother's loving and comforting embrace. And Dad, protesting that "The rotten little bugger ratted me out", wandered off to a less guilt-inducing part of the yard where he could lick the wounds of

The picture is a comic of a stuffed trophy fish hanging on a wall - you know, the one with the caption that reads: reserve the right to edit copy for libel or other legal, spelling or grammatical errors. We accept no liability for any such errors.

"If I could have kept my mouth shut, I wouldn’t be here."

And life went on.