Adventures in Aqualand

For my son Andrew's 7th birthday this fall, my wife Jodi and I agreed to buy him a new aquarium. You see, for the last five plus years, we have lived four blocks from the mother of all aquarium stores, the aptly named "Aqualand". Ever since my son laid eyes on the store, it's been one of our ongoing stops around the neighborhood. Forget the Underwater Adventure at the Mall of America. This place is for serious folks.

If there is a single fish or aquatic-related supply that does not exist in Aqualand's inventory, I doubt it's legal. Want tetras? They've got a dozen different varieties. Looking for that special piranha for your annoying neighbor? Come on down. Are your angel fish picky eaters? More food choices than an Old Country Buffet.

Now, I must explain that I have zero experience dealing with aquariums. Growing up, my family had the occasional goldfish in a bowl. Most were usually temporary residents in our house. Once in awhile, my dad would clean the bowl. Occasionally, I would even remember to feed it. Then, on some Saturday morning, one of us would come downstairs to the dining room and find the poor thing belly up. Last rites were said and then the deceased was sent to its final resting place in the New York City sewer system.

A few days before Andrew's birthday, Jodi and I journeyed to Aqualand to scope out the prospects. Faced with the reality that I needed to learn about aquariums quickly, I did what any dad would do. I threw myself on the mercy of the salesman at the store. He smiled and showed me a complete starter set -- one 15 gallon tank and everything else to get the aquarium going. "Do you need to clean this thing?," I asked. "Once a month," he said, "but you won't need to worry about that for awhile." "How about fish?," I responded. "Just get the tank going for a couple of days first."

Andrew's birthday arrived. We presented him with the aquarium tank and equipment sans fish. He was thrilled. I dutifully promised to put it together right away. Luckily, my father-in-law Ron, an experienced aquarium owner, was there to help. "What are these plastic tubes for," I wondered. "Filter -- you need to filter the water and it's an air tube," he said. "Oh," I muttered. Ron helped me start putting things together, but we stopped half way when it was time for cake.

One week went by. The aquarium sat in our basement, dry as a bone. Two weeks went by. Andrew asked, "Dad, are you going to put my tank together." "Yes, Andrew, this weekend." During week three, a friend visited with her kids. While they played in the basement, Andrew showed her the half complete aquarium. "Where's the fish?," she asked. "Haven't gotten around to it yet," I replied. "Yeah. I know how that goes." She took an old fish sculpture we had lying around the basement and stuck it in the tank. "See, now you can pretend."

The truth was I didn't know what the heck I needed to do to finish the project. Somehow, Aqualand didn't sell instructions when you bought the starter set. I looked at the collection of tubing and boxes without a clue. Finally, after nearly a month, I got up the nerve to finish. But first I called Ron. "Could you walk me through this again? There are these plastic tubes" "They connect to the air pump," Ron said. "Is that the black square looking thing?" "Probably. Does it have a power cord sticking out of it?" "Yes," I responded "That's the pump," "Oh." I replied,"I thought I was supposed to stick it at the bottom of the tank." "Not a good idea," said Ron. Later that evening, Jodi returned home from a meeting. "I'm almost done with the tank," I proudly called up to her from the basement. "It's about time," she called back.

The next morning, before Andrew went to school, I showed him the functioning tank. "Great, Dad. Where are the fish?" "We'll get them in a few days at Aqualand" And, a few days later, we actually did. Satisfied with my accomplishment, I thought, the fun father and son bonding would now begin. This would be "our" project. This morning, we fed the fish. "Isn't it cool?," I mused looking at the tetras darting for food. "Yeah, Dad. Cool." We sat for a few minutes in the basement, father and son, gazing together at the tank. Then Andrew interjected, "Dad, it gets boring watching fish. I'm hungry for breakfast," and ran upstairs, leaving the tetras and I staring at each other.