Through My Grandfather's Eyes | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Through My Grandfather's Eyes | Previous Challenge Entry
By Liz Zelie
06/06/08
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The irony wasn't lost on me. Even before I was aware of my fish allergies, I had solemnly told my mother that I was "scared of fish gills." They ranked very high on my list – probably sandwiched between dentists and clowns although I don't recall which claimed the top spot.

And yet I was still forced to endure family reunions at the fish hatchery. And as if that wasn't embarrassing enough, we usually settled by the reject fish tank. It was a large shallow pool where the rejects - those with one eye or three fins or no scales – were tossed. And there they stayed for their seemingly short lives.

For the most part, I ignored them. I listened to the obligatory stories about visitors to great aunt Bertha's nursing home enjoying a bowl of nuts only to realize they had originally been chocolate-coated before great aunt Bertha's toothless gums had gnawed on them. At this point, I generally excused myself from the table and tossed out my lunch. Playing cards with the men – bridge, poker, pitch, and black jack – was a great way to escape the stories and the inhabitants of the shallow pool nearby.

But I couldn't completely ignore the fish. Some well-meaning great uncle, probably the one who had supplied the location, inevitably gave us a tour of the hatchery. "Us" being all the kids in attendance and my mother, who seemed fascinated and asked plenty of questions, but was mostly just relieved to escape from my father's relatives.

Unlike other family reunions, this one was unique because the attendees were as foreign to me as the numerous fish that I viewed. Only the desire to uphold the family name and visit with his cousins prompted my father to attend these events. And since they happened only once a year, I never got to know these relatives. Nor did I really want to. In my childish mind, these aunts and uncles were associated with my grandfather and therefore tainted by that association.

I have very few memories of my grandfather. I remember visiting him after Christmas in the house he was living with his second wife. Or was it his third? I remember that my grandmother stayed at home with my aunts and my cousins. Only my father, the oldest child and only son, made the trek. And I recall sitting on my grandfather’s knee – shy, wary, and conscious of my new glasses – and being told that I was his ugliest grandchild.

Maybe that’s why the reject fish bothered me so much. I was terrified of being categorized, lumped in with them, and passed by. I knew my immediate family loved me but I often wondered if the rest of the world viewed me through my grandfather’s eyes. I was too young to realize that my grandfather was only trying to hurt his son. He knew how deeply my father loved his children.

My grandfather changed the way I viewed myself for a time. But he had no impact on the way my parents viewed me. If only I had recognized this earlier, maybe I would have opened up, pushed past the shyness, and embraced the family I never knew. I may have enjoyed the family reunions at the fish hatchery. I may even have learned to pass by the rejected fish tank without seeing myself in the water’s reflection. And trusted that one person’s inaccurate vision needn’t cloud my own.

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