My dad killed three of my sister’s fish when she was eleven. He thought he was helping by emptying the dirty tank water and scrubbing its insides. He dumped the goldfish and the three Danios into a bowl and refilled their clean tank with tap water. I watched a few of them begin to show signs of irritation, confused when they suddenly began to swim in quick circles. I remember pointing at them, laughing, and saying, “They’re playing!” as the chlorine in the tap water slowly killed them.

The next morning all of them were dead except the goldfish my sister got from the fair. Goldfish survive everything. I woke from bed to a scream and screeching cry. I ran up the stairs to my sister pointing at her floating, unmoving fish. My dad spat, “I was trying to help!”

My dad is a hard man. He rarely apologizes for things even when he should and avoids conversation deeper than the weather and if I’m getting A’s in school. Once, my freshman year of college, when I was home for fall break, my dad heard me sobbing in my bedroom. I had just found out that my boyfriend had slept with another girl while he was on tour. My dad walked in on me, curled in a ball on top of my covers, scrolling through the Instagram of the girl he had cheated on me with.

He told me to straighten up and move on—that a guy isn't worth this type of crying. He didn’t hug me or tell me that it was going to be okay, he waited for me to stop sobbing and said, “There you go,” and left the room. I curled back into a ball and went to sleep, periodically rubbing my runny nose against my pillow.

Goldfish fry, or baby goldfish, are born a metallic black or a grey color and gradually turn orange over time. Light impacts this color shift; fish fry that aren’t exposed to light may never change color—goldfish may never turn orange, become the color that allows us to identify them as the ever so common goldfish. If your goldfish begins to lose its orange color or acquire growths on their bodies, there is something wrong. Your tank is probably dirty, and you are probably not providing them with enough light. You are taking away their color. 

My mom and dad weren’t the type of parents to own “How To Parent” books. They didn’t read the section about “How To Get Your Kids To Sleep In Their Own Bed” and let my little brother sleep with them until he was almost eight. They didn’t know “How To Talk To Your Kids About Sex” and I had to ask my friends questions that they only knew the answers to because their parents told them. They also didn’t see the chapters titled “The Benefits of Eating Together For Children and Families” and bought us pepperoni pizza three times a week and set out paper plates next to the three pizza boxes for us to eat over to avoid crumbs in our beds. I’ve thought a lot about how my upbringing has made me so hesitant, so distant and worried about what people think of me. My parents raised, but did not teach, and so I was kept in the dark about most things until I learned them for myself. I haven’t found the balance between giving away too much of myself and not giving away enough. Maybe there is a color between metallic black and orange, but I’m not sure how to fit there. 

When I visit my family during Christmas, I’m used to being asked how is that book coming along. I wince, not because the book isn’t coming along, but because I don’t want them to ever read it. I don’t want my dad and mom to read about their complacency during my eating disorder. I don’t want my grandma to know that every time she compares my sister’s petite body to mine, it makes me want to relapse. I shrug when they ask me, say it’s coming, and grab a dinner roll before leaving the dining room table. If a goldfish’s tank is too dirty, they will try to jump out of the tank to their deaths.

People recommend doing a partial clean on fish tanks. To do this, you remove some of the dirty water with a siphon tube, and introduce clean water that you let sit out overnight to rid of the chlorine and chemicals. You do both processes slowly because you don’t want to shock the fish. Fish usually die from stress. 

We weren’t allowed to have dogs growing up, so we got fish. My parents were worried about dogs ruining their furniture and carpet, leaving their home looking disheveled. They were used to clean carpeted floors, couches without animal hair. They thought that if their house was organized, it meant their life must be. Fish were easy, but even my dad ended up killing them.

My parents always pay their bills late. It isn’t because they don’t have the money but because they forget. They don’t listen to email and text reminders, they don’t trust auto pay. They wait until my mom gets a message from me on Facebook that our phones have been shut off because the bill hasn’t been paid. They wait until they notice, until it becomes a problem.

I have never felt comfortable bringing my problems to my parents. Their lack of interest and obvious discomfort during these types of conversations make me weary. My siblings and I were given “I love yous” and “Baby” but never “Are you okay?” Lunch money and hugs only get you so far. They should have been more worried about this messiness in their home than dogs and dirty fish tanks. 

My parents never took me to an aquarium, but I love to go now. Aquariums are just big fish tanks. In the Shima Marineland Aquarium in Japan, a goldfish was used as live bait during a performance. After being tossed into the tank, the goldfish escaped through a tiny gap that took it to the filtration system. It lived there for seven years, alone and in the dark, living off of food scraps that made their way into the tank. 

I used to wonder if my sister’s goldfish was lonely after its companions died, but goldfish don’t really get lonely. They aren’t social animals like people are, they don’t need other fish to keep them company. In high school, I daydreamed about moving away from everything I knew. I imagined all the work I could get done without distractions, all that I could accomplish in solitude. I could feed off of late-night coffee and books, drink cheap wine, and write until my hands ached. I would live in a tiny apartment with a cat that I let lay on the furniture. 

I didn’t think I would miss my parents when they moved to Nevada, I didn't think I’d mind that they couldn’t help me move to Chicago. But I miss my parents trying. I miss their tiny efforts to be what a parent is supposed to be, a person that provides and offers. My dad bought my sister a new fish and said, “There you go,” after she finally smiled again.