Tanks for the Memories

My son, Sweet Potato, is six years old.  He has always had a special interest in animals.  They have always fascinated him, reassured him, and calmed him.  When he was a toddler, he appreciated animals no matter how they were presented: in books, movies, at PetSmart, and the grocery store.  

When he was two years old, we took one of our more difficult trips to the Publix supermarket.  He liked to shriek so he could listen to his voice resonate.  He reached for shelves and grabbed for products.  I had to push the cart down the center of each aisle to allow for his wingspan.  

I reached the end of the cereal aisle and saw the lobster tank in the seafood section.  I leaned close to him, "Sweet Potato, do you want to see a lobster?"

"Yes!  Lobster!" He squealed.  I pushed the cart over to the tank and he squawked and pointed at the rubber-banded claw.  He asked many questions, including where he came from, where did he live now, where were his friends, etc.  We spent about 15 minutes looking at the lobster and watching the bubbles.  

We named the lobster Lenny.  Every time I needed to buy groceries, he would beg to go see Lenny.  We ended up using Lenny as a reinforcer, "Put your toys in the toy box then we will go see Lenny!"  At one point, he asked if he could buy Lenny and keep him at home in the bathtub.

Flash forward to last week.  I had almost forgotten about Lenny.  Sweet Potato's interest in animals has been satisfied by dinosaur books, toys, zoos, and documentaries.  I had to get groceries and SP asked if he could go.  We got the cart, rounded the corner, and he asked, "Mama, can we go see Lenny?"  He was absolutely delighted to see that Lenny had some friends in the tank with him.  He made small talk with shoppers about Lenny.  

I was positive at some point along the way we discussed why Lenny resided at Publix and what people would do when they bought him.   I think SP chose not to think about the details.  

This evening, I was at the grocery store.  The man ahead of me in line had two cardboard boxes that look like the kind you get at PetSmart when you buy a guinea pig.  The red print on the side of the box read "Live Lobster".  The man purchased Lenny and his friend so he could make lobster rolls. 

I texted my husband, Mr. Baseball, that Lenny and his buddy were leaving the building.  Forever.  I felt relief that I was alone in the checkout line.  I felt a little sad that my son's wonder at the miracle of an accessible lobster was so fragile.  

Goodbye, Lenny.