(First published as a community column in The Huntsville Times on November 9, 2008)Marvin the Goldfish spent 13 years swimming itty-bitty laps inside the fish tank on our bathroom counter. That translates to approximately 120 human years; not as old as Methuselah, but long enough to make me wonder what was in those fortified fish flakes he enjoyed so much.
We purchased Marvin and two companions in 1995 as "starter" pets for our three young sons when we moved into our first house. We noticed immediately that he was always starvin', so we named him after the gas station chain. It was a moniker that just stuck, like algae to the side of an aquarium.
Our menagerie would later include Duchess the Rabbit, Mia the Guinea Pig, Boomer the Bird, Gracie the Dog, Joe the Plumber (sorry) and a hermit crab whose name I can't quite recall. But early on, three goldfish were all we could handle.
Or so we thought. The first one died almost immediately, and another one got depressed around Christmas and leaped over the edge of the tank and plopped to its death near one of the double sinks.
The grief was apparently too much for Marvin to bear. Just a few nights later, he tried to commit suicide as well. My wife heard the splash and "kerplunk" on the counter and was about to get up to investigate when she heard the pitter-patter of little feet.
It was my youngest son. He stumbled into the bathroom, scooped up the flailing fish, dropped him into the tank and went straight back to bed without saying a word. The next day, he barely remembered it. In fact, he thought he'd dreamed the whole thing.
Marvin was a friendly fish—maybe just a bit too friendly. "Don't use their bathroom," one young visitor gravely whispered to a companion. "Their fish watches you."
Yeah, it was a little creepy, but it's not like he was a pervert. He was just hungry. His intense stares were merely his way of saying, "Hey, when you're done with your business over there, how about tossing a few of those fish flakes my way, would ya?"
Marvin witnessed our sons growing into young men. He heard their laughter, cries and fights. He watched them all shave for the very first time. He saw more naked bums in 13 years than most doctors do in their entire careers.
But to his credit, Marvin never ratted anybody out. What happened in the hall bathroom, stayed in the hall bathroom.
Marvin fared well over the years thanks to regular tank cleaning by my wife and conscientious feeding from my youngest son, but recently he took a turn for the worse.
His once golden hue faded to a ghostly white, and little red splotches began cropping up on his head and tail. He didn't swim very straight anymore. When he stopped begging for food and began retreating into the corners of his tank, we knew his time was short.
My middle son found Marvin floating on his side, his dark, beady eyes staring vacantly into the void. He's a lifeguard at the YMCA, so his rescue instincts took over. He rapped hard on the glass and shouted, "Marvin, Marvin, wake up!" He then flicked him gently with his finger.
The noise, vibration and touch jump-started him like a defibrillator; he suddenly popped upright and began swimming around again. We thought about renaming him Lazarus.
But a week later, Marvin was gone for good. His corpse now resides in our freezer-turned-temporary-
I have a birthday this month, and I'll turn 5 in goldfish-years. I doubt I'll make it to 120 in human ones, but I'll try my best to live as simply and righteously as Marvin did in the time God grants me.
But I'm keeping those fortified fish flakes. I may even pinch a few for myself and start adding them to my morning yogurt.
©2008 Dr. Michael Brown/20/40-Something. All Rights Reserved.
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