Living in the town of Laurenceton, NL in the 50s, I was like most boys growing up in the coastal communities of Newfoundland. One of my favourite things to do in the summer time was go fishing, either to the Point of Rock in front of our home, or to the neighbour’s wharf, and enjoy catching mainly conners, flatfish and sculpins (ugh, they’re ugly). I remember this one occasion, when I was a very young boy, going with my older brother Roy to Uncle Tom Humphries wharf. He lived a couple of doors up the road. He wasn’t my real uncle. It seemed that we called all of the older folks aunts and uncles in those days. We got settled in at the head of the wharf, casting our hooks baited with worms and tied to some crude stick, usually an alder. If we were lucky we would have a bamboo. The fish were plentiful as usual. It was then that I felt this little tug on my line. Not thinking it was anything, I pulled it to the surface to check, and there it was, the smallest little flat fish that I had ever seen! It was about two inches in length. Needless to say I was overwhelmed with excitement. I got it to the top of the wharf. In my eagerness to remove it from the hook it started to flick and I lost my grasp. As it came off the hook it slipped out of my hands and back over the wharf and into the water. I was devastated! I immediately jumped to my feet and followed the little fish over the wharf. I soon found myself on the bottom and unable to swim. As fear gripped me I quickly started to crawl as fast as I could, luckily towards the shore. Thank goodness it was low tide. I soon broke water and, as any scared child would do, screamed to the top of my lungs - I expect louder than any whale breaching along the coast. The loud screams reached the ears of Uncle Tom and he came rushing to check it out. At that moment we realized that my cap had come off and was slowly drifting away. Uncle Tom grabbed my pole and casted out the hook and line and retrieved my cap. There I stood, soaking wet, scared to death, and probably a little embarrassed, as my greatest catch ever had got away. Needless to say that my brother was half scared to death as well from the ordeal. It took some time for them to get me to settle down and stop my crying as they coaxed me to go to the house. I didn’t want to leave the little flat fish behind! In my adult years, as I reflect on this incident, I realize it's not the size (length and/or weight) of a fish that's most important. The smallest of fish can intrigue and satisfy the heart of a child. And I believe that is so true for so many things in our life’s journey.   Submitted By: Calvin Perry