From the time he was two, my brother loved to fish and he would go with my uncle every chance he got. They would go to a lake and most of the fish they caught got thrown back. Once in a while they would catch a fish that was big enough to be brought home. The people who owned the lake would filet the fish for them and then it came home to be cooked. He didn’t get to go fishing for a couple of years, because my uncle had moved away, but one day he showed up and took my eight year old brother and my dad to the lake. He didn’t know that the rules had changed and now you had to keep what you caught and they charged a dollar fish. My brother caught ten fish that day, and he brought them all home. A couple of them were so small that they were barely a bite and I couldn’t eat them because they looked like babies. My brother stood outside, over the fireplace, and he cooked every one of those fish. As he took them off the fireplace, he thanked them for being his dinner. It was really cold that night, and when we got back inside he was shivering. Mom turned up the thermostat, and he sat with the furnace blowing over him. He started to cry because the fish were so small. He said he thanked the fish because they weren’t any older than he was. He said he had to cook them so they stayed warm until they got to fish heaven.