The Rather Short Tale of John the Fish

This is a story my Granddaddy used to tell us when we were children.

 I was maybe five or six in about 1945 when my parents took me and my two older brothers, Charles and Billy, to Virginia Beach. We spent the whole day playing on the beach. As we were leaving, my brothers and I noticed a fish that got washed to the shore. He was still alive so we filled a bucket with ocean water and placed him in it to keep him safe. We carried the bucket up to our spot where our parents were packing up our things.
  "Mama! Papa!" we said, "We found a fish! Can we keep him?"
  "Well boys," my mother said, "he's probably got a family too. It wouldn't be very nice to take him away from them."
  "But we found him on the shore!" Charles said.
  "He was lost Papa!" I said, "And the oceans so big! How's he gonna find them?"
  "Alright," my father said, "We'll go to the pet store first thing tomorrow and get him a bowl to live in."
We cheered in excitement for our new pet.
  "Now get in the car so we can make it home before dark boys," my mother said.

  The next morning when we got up we checked on our new pet. He was still in his bucket which we had placed on top of our dresser.
 "He looks bigger than he did last night," I said to my brother Billy.
 "You're crazy," Billy replied. "Fish don't just grow over night!"
 "Are you boys ready?" our father called to us from down stairs and we hurried down to meet him so we could go to the pet store.
 When we came home that afternoon, we had a brand new bowl and some fish flakes for our pet. Our mother met us at the door and said, "I don't think that bowl is going to be big enough. Your fish has out grown the bucket. I had to put him in the bath tub"
  "Well, then how are we going to take a bath?" said my father.
  "We could teach it how to walk!" my eldest brother Charles said.
  "That just plain silly!" my mother said.
  "It would be worth a try," my father replied, "it would be better than us smelling bad because we couldn't take a bath!" Then he looked at us and said, "If you're going to teach him how to walk, you need to give him a name."
  "How about John!" my brother Billy said.
  "Do you boys agree with that name?" my father said Charles and I, to which we nodded. "John it is then!" he said.
 My father, brothers, and I went into the bathroom to introduce ourselves and present our new friend with his new name.
 "Hello fish," I said. "My name is Richard, this is Papa, Billy, and Charles. We've decided to call you John; is that okay with you?" he splashed his tale.
 "I think that is a yes." my father said.
 "Would you like to learn how to walk?" asked my brother Billy, and John gave a bigger splash and we giggled.

 As days went by John got bigger until he was the same size as our father, and by that time fish flakes just weren't enough for him, so we taught him how to eat our food as well. He learned how to walk as fast as he was growing. First we had him standing in the tub, then on the floor, then we had him moving with a walker, then he was on his own and we had him at the table with us during our meals.
 Word got out and soon he was the most well known fish in Mt. Jackson, Virginia! Reporters from every part of the state came to get an interview. Questions of where we found him, how he got so big, and how we did it; then a question came up from a Richmond reporter, "You've taught him to walk like you and eat like you, are you going to teach him to talk to?"
 After a few moments of thought, our father looked at him and said, "I don't see why not!"
 So the teachings began! First we started with letters, then words, then speech. Before you knew it, John was walking and talking like the rest of us! Because of that we decided to take him with us to our family reunion. Everyone was excited to meet our new family member; none of them had ever met a walking, talking fish before.
  It was held at a park about thirty minutes down the road. It was mid-August and the air was muggy from all of the rain we had gotten. John was excited to meet everyone and try out his new speaking talent. Unfortunately, to get to the shelter from the parking lot, we had to walk across an old bridge that crossed a creek, that because of the recent rains was more like a mildly raging river. The bridge was a little slick from the humidity and left over morning dew so we all made sure to take care crossing on the way over.
 John was a little afraid of the height and the water down below so he was the last to cross. Half way to the other side John found one of the slick spots and slipped off of the bridge. He tried to grab at the sides but his fins missed and he fell into the river where he unfortunately drowned.
 The bridge was still slick from the mornings dew

Author's Note

I know this sounds a little ridiculous, but it is a tall tale after all :)