Waiting for the Big Fish

I actually have a fish story—

I have been thinking a lot about fish lately. Do not give people fish; teach them how to fish. There is a grilled pomfry stored in my freezer, I have some milkfish and Boston mackerel in my freezer. I want some grilled fish for dinner. The Chinese lady smiling at me when I buy my fish, “no clean? Oki, oki, xie-xie!” I am obsessed with fish for the time being. My niece Joan and I will operate a grill in Manila and it will sell nothing but grilled fish – small fish, large fish; we think this is our destiny- grilled fish gurus and entrepreneurs.

When my son was barely 4 years old, I agreed to fetch some fish from Florida in exchange for a round trip ticket to Pensacola, Florida. What would be the downside; I could frolic at the beaches with my baby and my Florida-based family who lived near the most pristine sugary white sand beaches of Pensacola, Florida. All I had to do was bring home a giant tub of round scad for my sister to sell in her Asian food store in Virginia. In Florida, we read and played under the sun until we were dark like raisins; we ate oysters, crabs, and shrimp to our heart’s desire; laughed and dipped in the warm water of the Gulf of Mexico. Life was good and the sun was warm and my skin was getting as dark as terra cotta. The only thing that cast some sadness to me was that I no longer was able to travel outside of my now smaller world- work and home, home and work. No longer could I afford to go out on European vacations with my friends; my mantra has become “Spending unwisely will take food away from my child’s mouth.” The other thing that was frustrating to me was that my savings was going fast as I pay my lawyer a dime for every nickel I was getting for a pittance of a child support. Nevertheless, my needs may be more than I could afford but I had a very beautiful and healthy child and he was worth more than a few trips to Rome or Madrid.

On the day of my return to Washington, DC, a huge Styrofoam ice box of about four feet long and two feet wide was filled with the round scads and ice, duct taped to make it stay shut and cold. As I checked it in, I almost felt like I was bringing in some contraband from some exotic place; something that was taboo or even illegal. This was what I signed up for and now I was about to check it in. How would anyone know that the woman with a cute little baby, carrying a designer purse and wearing a pair of Rayban sunglasses is bringing into the flight at least 50 lbs of roundscad, otherwise known as “galunggong.” The airline agent smiled at me and said, “This is one huge ice box.” It sure was.

Life as a single mom has taught me the virtue of humility; it was perfectly okay to ask the camp executive director for a huge discount for my son’s summer camp so he could learn to swim and draw and play with other kids. He agreed. It was even okay to ask the mechanics and upholsterers to lower the prices of their services to help me out. They agreed. I accepted hand-me-down baby clothes from coworkers, diaper coupons from friends and acquaintances; and shopped for toys at thrift shops. I even bought a few clothes from the consignment stores to avoid looking like a derelict, while I fought to get child support. It was more important to clothe and feed my child and pay the day care provider. So that on this day, bringing in more than 50-lbs of galunggong in exchange for a round trip plane ticket to get my son and myself to play at a beach was a no brainer.

My son got airsick. The poor baby was a mess when we landed. As I rushed to take him somewhere so he could feel a little better, I saw my ice box on the conveyor. As it began to slide down, the box broke in half, spilling every fish out onto the conveyor. People began to look with amusement at the little round scads, so many with ice still attached to them going around and around amongst the suitcases. I was horrified but I acted as though I had nothing to do with the damn fish. People were quiet and polite at first but then they started to make comments about the fish, “Oh my goodness, whose fish are those? That’s a lot of bait! I have never seen so many fish swimming above sea level.”

I stared in disbelief as the ice box proceeded to break in many places spilling galunggong and a few blue fish. I was horrified. If I walk away, I would not know what I would tell my sister. I had nothing to show for the airline ticket that she gave me. So I stood there stoically, praying to Saint Therese to cover the smell of fish with smell of flowers. She delivered. I could not smell the fish, only a faint smell of my baby’s vomit.

It seemed like an eternity before the crowd disappeared with their suitcases and beautiful memories of Florida, punctuated, surely, with a “funny story” of fish spilling out of a white box as they claimed their luggage. They must know or guessed those fish belonged to that Asian lady with a baby. I was the only one who looked like I would eat those little fish, with eyes staring out into nothingness.

I rushed to change my son’s clothes and cleaned him up. His color was coming back. Now I have to take care of some fish “swimming” on the conveyor belt. I approached a porter, “Excuse me, I need your help. Those fish are mine.” He looked at me, face beaming with amusement, and called out loudly to the other porters, “Hey! Let’s help this lady. That fish is her lunch!” “What?” “The fish on the conveyor! She owns them. Lady, that your lunch?” At least three of them approached me. “Lady, this is a lot of fish! Where did you get all these fish? You gonna use them for bait? Man, ain’t seen them many fish in a long time and they ain’t swimming in no water. Na-ah!” I wanted to die, I wanted to disappear into the floor, but I also needed to take the fish to where I should so I said, “Thank you. My baby and I are trying to sell the fish today in Virginia so I can pay my rent.” “Lady, we will help you, no problem.” “Hey! Help the lady with her rent!”

They found a plastic tub that fit perfectly in the trunk of my car. They put fish and ice in that tub and covered it with plastic trash bags. I was very grateful and knew they would have something funny to relay to their wives and children that night. I on the other hand, drove straight to Virginia to deliver the fish. They were still stiff frozen when I got there.

My nephew René reminded me recently of a saying that says, “That which did not kill you, makes you stronger.” The fish incident did not kill me. It could not have. Despite the fact that it was mortifying while it happened, I focused on my mission to deliver them to their owner. I was also aware that there was something honorable in doing something good for yourself and those who depended on you. The horror and embarrassment of that day did not humiliate me. I moved on with my life doing the best I could to fish and provide for my son.

Today, I look back on that experience as a reminder of what I have gone through; so to speak, I did not raise my son asking for fish; I learned how to fish and I think I finally caught a big one.