The Incredible Mr. Limpet

My daughter’s fish have defied the odds and are still swimming happily around in the Section 8 housing that is my mixing bowl. Decision time – Buy the tank and filter and coral and treasure chest and thereby tempt Fate? Or let them live out their lives believing that they had truly traded up when they moved from the Baggie to the bowl?

The school year has begun its long, slowly descending glide into summer. With all of the field trips, and May Day, and Family Fun Day, and Field Day, and year end parties, and awards celebrations, I am not at all sure that this qualifies as school. Why bother? If all we were going to get were days filled with junk food and downtime, I could have left the kids home alone for the last two months of the “academic year.”

The deafening quiet is disconcerting. J. has not heard from anyone in his family for nearly two weeks. Not a peep. No calls. No voice mails. No texts. No e-mails. No hate mail. No letter bombs. No nasty-grams, notes on windshields, smoke signals, Morse code messages, or notes delivered by carrier pigeon.

Nothing.
Nada.
Zilch.
Zippy the donut.

What gives?

Has the family been so consumed by the long term devotion to the Big Day that in its absence they’ve forgotten how to participate in a normal life? With Em and Chuck out of sight, do they not have anything left to do? And have they strayed so far afield from regular existence that they don’t know what comprises a routine day? Let’s hope they are still bathing!

I am sure the fading glory of the Big Day has something to do with it – but it is probably more related to how the family structure has changed between the day the Big Question was posed and the Big Day itself.

It has changed on a cellular level. Its DNA is all scrambled. It is like the prehistoric water thing that swam around in ever-receding pools of water and over time found that it had grown much needed legs. Something changes and it changes YOU.

So J. has learned to walk around outside the gene pool. He can take an occasional dip but he can’t linger. He thrives in another environment now.

Sure, he may long for the relative comfort of the warm embracing waters of his family. But he’s learned that those waters can turn dark and become infested with predators. Swim at your own risk.

So he and I, and our kids, will learn to live a life that is different from what it was before. Every bit as happy, every inch an adventure. But with caution signs in unusual places and a few detours from the roads we’ve travelled. Still, we are happy to have adapted in this way and embrace what life has in store for us all.

And now, as if on cue, I notice that one of my daughter’s Firehouse Fun Fair gold fish has gurgled its last breath and has sunk to the bottom of the mixing bowl. How different it would be if they could simply grow legs.