Fish

Henry is really interested in fish and fishing.  (Another aspect of his primal caveman self, I guess.)  Michael and I went out to a fancy restaurant a couple of days ago (for work), and I had a whole fish, head included, on my plate for my entree.  I felt like I used to feel when I saw a backhoe and Henry wasn't with me: what a waste!  No one else at that table appreciated that fish as much as Henry would have.  Last summer we were driving and Henry saw a man fishing off a bridge.  "What's that guy doing, Mom?" He was immediately fascinated, and we explained fishing to him.  I have promised him that we will go fishing this summer, even though neither Michael nor I am much expert at it.  

Today I got a piece of salmon for our dinner, and Henry was quite intrigued, although he was disappointed that it wasn't a whole fish.  He wanted to know where on the fish the piece came from (Michael drew him a picture), where the fish itself came from (Scotland), and how it was caught.  I was trying to explain that this fish was farmed, and I used the word "harvested" to avoid saying "killed."  He asked me, "you mean cut and ground up, like a harvester harvests a field?"  (Being from Lancaster County, he knows all about combine harvesters.)  He doesn't shy away from the death involved in eating creatures.  He did comment on how the fish didn't want to be caught, and we talked about that.  I'm quite curious to see how he would react if we really caught a fish and cleaned it and ate it.  

And then we all devoured the fish-- including Agatha.