The $100 Goldfish and the $75 Cat

In the past two months, my wife and I have spent nearly $200 on pets for our children.

We have also had two deaths in the family, Goldie and Midnight.  Midnight is a separate story all to herself.  That story is another story of death, deceit and fleas.  It will be addressed later.

It started so innocently. In early August at the Hartford Fair, my wife thought it would be a good idea for our older daughter, Sarah, to have a turn at the goldfish toss. You know, the silly little carnival game where one attempts to toss a ping-pong ball into a tiny goldfish bowl in the hope of winning a prized goldfish in a plastic bag. Two dollars for 12 balls. Given Sarah's relatively limited coordination, I felt like I was in the clear.

Much to my horror, the 11th ball skimmed off the top of one bowl, caromed off of another and landed gently in the middle of a third. She had won her prize. A disease ridden carp that would cost me nearly one-hundred dollars. Now I know how my parents felt nearly 25 years earlier when I had done the same thing.

To make a horrid story short, after naps that fateful afternoon of the fair, we all piled in the car to spend my hard-earned money at the local pet store. One tank, one filter, five pounds of gravel, some type of solution (that I still to this day have no idea what it was supposed to do and did not save the fish), a plastic cave and one pink, plastic plant. Grand total: $94.29.

Four days later, Goldie was dead. Found floating underneath the filter upon waking one morning. The subject of death became a distinct reality for a four year old and I was still out about a hundred bucks.

We buried him that afternoon in a small cardboard candy box by the Rose of Sharon bushes. A small service with a few kind words for our floating friend.

I'm pretty sure that the cats dug him up later for a snack.

Raising the Bar

I'm all for accountability. I really do think it is important to have some standards. And I truly believe that it is high time that the wise and good legislators from the great state of Ohio start holding the feet of education to the fire.

That time is now. We are in dire need of more testing, more stringent testing, and some additional testing to ensure that the old testing was doing its job.

It pleases me to no end to inform you of the rigorous and relevant changes that have occurred in the education of today's youths. Why just today, during the administering of the writing portion of the Ohio Graduation Test, I have seen with my own eyes and heard with my own ears how high the bar can be set. Students are being challenged to ensure that they "cover the topic thoroughly" in their written responses...while in the very same breath they are also informed that "there are only four pages for each writing prompt".

But make sure you are thorough.

If you will excuse me, I need to go find some ice for my ankle. I tripped over the bar on my way to collect the writing tests...

Dear Santa

This was the first Christmas in 24 years that I did not receive a dozen golf balls as a present.

I did not receive a bag of tees either.

Honestly, I didn't receive a single ball or even one single tee.

I reflected on this experience one morning over my holiday break from teaching and was greatly saddened by this revelation. In spite of the obvious weight of a box of golf balls or this unmistakable sound a bag of tees makes when you rattle it, I always looked forward to receiving and opening those gifts. Perhaps it was the leftover child in me that longed to break free every year in late December.

But the more that I thought about it, the less I missed the box of balls and the bag of tees.

Twenty years from now, I won't remember that I didn't get any golf balls, tees, a glove or anything else related to my favorite pastime. I will remember my wife, my daughter Sarah and myself creeping into Emma's room to gently wake her up on Christmas morning so that Her sister could finally open her presents. I will remember her sitting straight up in her bed and gasping "Santa!" when the realization finally hit her that overnight Santa had come and gone perhaps leaving for her underneath the Christmas tree the book and the baby she asked for. I will remember the puzzled looks on their faces when examine the partially eaten cookies, the empty glass of milk, and the missing reindeer food that was carefully placed the night before as a simple "thank you" for whatever you left. I will remember the sight of two sisters silently immersed in play, surrounded by presents underneath a twinkling tree with smiles as wide as a river.

Maybe the magic of Christmas isn't getting what we want. Maybe the real magic of Christmas is getting what we need.



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