A few minutes after we arrived at the fair, my 10-year-old daughter found the golden prize of her dreams. Just past the group of children throwing tiny plastic balls into cups on a table, underneath the fluorescent lights of the hallway in our Catholic parish, a teenager was holding a tiny plastic bag filled with water—and an aquatic inhabitant.
“PLEASE, PLEASE, CAN I PLEASE WIN A GOLDFISH?” my daughter begged. My husband and I redirected her to cotton candy and an educational scavenger hunt. Her eyes shone with hope; she continued to plead. She knew it was now or never.
Of course I folded. Three dollars and two ping-pong balls later, the fish was hers.
At home, we found an old glass coffee pot, poured in fresh water from the sink, and gently tipped Leonardo da Fishi inside. My daughter carefully, joyfully used the handle to carry him to a prime spot on the mantle, where she fed him a boiled pea. I looked at him and just felt guilty.
Did you know that a fair fish can live for 10 to 15 years if taken care of properly? Did you know that a common goldfish can grow to over a foot long, is a voracious eater, and at its full size, needs a 55-gallon tank, minimum, so it doesn’t smother to death from the chemicals released by its own poop?
I didn’t either. Not until after we had the goldfish, who, I might add, had been blessed. I tried not to look at the statue of St. Francis petting a rabbit in my front yard.
Before three days were up, I had earned a Reddit Ph.D. in proper fish care. I was a new freelancer and didn’t have hundreds of dollars to spend on a proper setup—but I had also found out about the term feeder fish. If we surrendered Leo to a pet store, the best outcome for him would probably be a quick death by turtle.
I posted on Facebook asking if anyone I knew owned a pond. As I asked myself why I couldn’t just let it go, I scoured Marketplace for a tank. “If it’s meant to be, we’ll find a free aquarium,” I told my daughter.
We found a free aquarium.
I set the 20-gallon tank up with the filter, an air bubbler, and the plastic decorations that came with it. My conscience was clear, at least for the moment. I stared at Leo swimming under the LED lights, which felt surprisingly relaxing, then subscribed to the Father Fish channel on YouTube. My daughter assured me that I had saved a life; I felt like a hero as I pooh-poohed the idea.
When I was growing up, I had always loved visiting the Shedd Aquarium, but never seriously entertained the idea of owning a fish. They were peaceful to look at, sure. But there was complicated equipment involved. Strange smells from the water. Testing with little vials. Fish were only enjoyable if someone else was doing the work. Who wants to spend their free time doing chemistry?
I guess I did. Three-and-a-half months after the parish fair, Leonardo da Fishi is now living in the Hilton of tanks: a 29-gallon planted aquarium inspired by the Walstad method. He spends his days eating duckweed, sifting through substrate, and dancing along the front of the glass, mouthing about how he hasn’t been fed in days. I’m still looking for a friend with a pond, but also sales on 60-gallon tanks…just in case.
Mary Stachyra Lopez is a freelancer in Virginia. She was an editor on The Atlantic’s audience team for five years. Her writing has won awards from the Society of Professional Journalists DC chapter and Catholic Media Association. When she’s not busy upgrading fish tanks, she’s telling her daughter they’re not getting a second dog.
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Oh, what we do to make kids happy! Wishing Leo a long life. Perhaps some day soon your child will be eager to handle the care taking.
Brilliant piece on how compassion scales in unexpected ways. The feeder fish dilemma you hit on is something most people dunno exists, like how a $3 decision at afair suddenly means learning water chemistry and Walstad methods. I had a similar spiral with rescuing a stray cat that turned into managing a whole colony. Sometimes the ethical choice isn't binary, it's just committing to doing better once you know better.