Nicholas and the Catfish

Our next-door neighbor Nicholas, who is six, goes fishing with his dad and learns life lessons on their fifty-year-old white and turquoise boat.

He’s still pretty new to catching his own fish, and naturally wants to keep every one and cook them up for supper, no matter the size - the catfish, especially.

His dad is teaching him that they can only keep what they will eat, and the smaller fish aren’t ready to be their supper just yet. It’s better for everybody to leave the little ones to swim and get bigger, and maybe even make some little baby catfish. There are plenty of bigger ones to take home.

Nicholas understands and is doing his best, but that does not mean he’s happy about tossing his catch back into the Colorado. He’s like me, with all the choices I have: on my sabbatical, I am driving DH crazy by grabbing on to every fish I see. We go to a restaurant; I decide I’d be good at waiting tables. We go on a raft ride; I decide I should be an intern at the state park. We go to Home Depot and five minutes later, I’m itching to slip on an orange apron and close off aisles with wheeled accordion gates. I go to a town meeting and I’m ready to run for mayor.

Sure, I can catch any number of fish. But some are too small to be useful, and others are way too big for me to eat. I need to learn patience.

Yesterday, we stopped by next door for a chat on our way into town for ice cream at Lock Drugs and admired the new bass seats on the boat. It came up that DH had never tasted catfish (amazing, but true - he’s English, remember, and they don’t have any good food there).

Last night as the sun came down and the frogs began singing, I was tidying up in the yard and heard little feet in sneakers slapping down the road at a pace only a six-year-old could manage.

DH opened the front door to see a breathless Nicholas on the front porch, ceiling fans ruffling his damp little-boy hair. He held a paper plate with a tinfoil-covered mound of the catch of the day, deep-fried catfish fresh from the kitchen. He was clearly loath to part with it, but solemnly presented it as a gift.

“It’s really good with catsup,” he informed DH with great seriousness. DH thanked him just as seriously. Nicholas bravely turned and headed home without a glance back over his shoulder.

He’s learning about sharing, too. Which is lucky for us - because that was some excellent catfish.

I hope he catches a bigger one next time.

Cross-posted at The New Charm School.