Fish

My friends' daughter, S. is three years old. She is precocious, pretty, and loving. S. is curious about everything and her questions are very mature for such a little girl. Her mind works incredibly logically for someone so young.

S. has her hands in everything. She likes to touch. She likes to do. She is not at all shy. She takes the initiative to explore her environment, but is also polite and asks her mommy or daddy for permission.

One day, S.'s daddy took her to the pier. The pier was fully of early morning fisherman casting their lines into the water below. The buckets were filled with small, silver, pencil length fish.

One fisherman caught a fish and pulled his line back so quickly, the fish fell off the hook. It was flapping around on the wood planks of the pier. S. asked, "Daddy, can I get the fish?" Daddy told her to ask the fisherman. In her sweet little girl voice (with a slight lisp), she asked the fisherman, "Can I get the fish." The fisherman said she could.

S. started chasing the fish. She would reach for the fish, almost get it, and the fish would flap away. After a few attempts, S. caught the fish and held it tight in her little hand. "Now put the fish in the man's bucket," Daddy told S. S. proudly dropped the fish in the bucket, her hand splaying open as she released the fish. Then, with a big, proud smile on her face, S. licked the entire surface of her palm where she had just grasped the fish.

When asked how her palm tasted, S. nonchalantly replied, "It was ok."