Up here in Oregon, dogs are all the rage. Since we are trying to braid ourselves into Oregonian culture, we bought Emmett a goldfish for his birthday (we're starting the enculturation process slowly.)
Emmett's first and last thoughts of the day were this fish.
First morning words = "Good Morning Fishy!"
Last words of the day = "Night Night Fishy, Love you!"
Now you can understand why I was surprised the day Emmett decided to play with the fish and ended up knocking the fish bowl into the sink....fish ending up in the drain and Emmett having no remorse for the death of his Fish.
Another surprise came when I found myself in deep mourning and hard sobbing over this fish who suffocated down in the disposal (living baby creatures deaths are a hard topic for pregnant folk.) Plus, I was in anguish over the fact my son had no compassion and felt zero guilt for his murder.
So weeks later, whilst in a church meeting at my house, I curiously watched Emmett grab the dining room chair, push it into the kitchen, center the chair in front of the sink, climb up on the chair...and then watched him peer into the kitchen sink.
In a most pensive and forlorn voice he asked,
"Fishy, Where are you?....Fishy, Come back."
That's when I slapped myself.
I had punished and reprimanded him over and over, trying to instill in him a sense of remorse and contriteness.
When, in reality, he just thought his fishy was on Holiday.
The moral of the goldfish:
Discipline = to teach...not to punish.
P.S. I think Santa will bring Emmett's fishy back from his vacation for Christmas.
