Chicken Soup for the Beach Lover's Soul by Jack Canfield Page B

never realized until that day that our Saturday trips to the beach were just as important to him as they were to me. As we walked back up the beach I said, “I’ve missed our trips to the beach. Would you like to come back next Saturday?”
    His eyes lit up like . . . well, probably the way mine did, every Saturday, all those years ago.
    Stefanie Durham

A Big Fish Story
    It was our first trip to Oahu, and by the third day we’d parasailed to unimaginable heights, windsurfed tsunami-type waves, and fought our way through the discount racks at a store with more loud clothing than a Shriner’s convention. That’s when I spotted the ad for Hanauma Bay, an underwater park where fish will eat right out of your hand.
    â€œSwimming in Hanauma Bay is like swimming in a giant aquarium,” the ad stated. Now that sounded more like the relaxing vacation I had envisioned.
    Moments later we were on a pristine beach, ready to slip into the warm aqua water, when I noticed the sign offering fish food for sale.
    â€œI’ll meet you out there,” I told my wife and hurried over to the stand.
    â€œDo fish really like this stuff?” I asked.
    â€œThey love it,” the saleslady said.
    â€œHmmm. Maybe then I should buy an extra bag and try my luck at fishing.” I laughed. She didn’t. So I simply made my purchase and headed out to the coral reefs.
    Perhaps it was because the advertisement had simply displayed one-inch photos of beautifully colored creatures called tangs and butterfly fish, but as I approached the reef, suddenly the fish seemed . . . too big. I whipped off my mask, figuring maybe some joker had painted big fish on the lens. Nope. Had they added some kind of magnification filter? I put the mask back on and looked at my bicep. Definitely no exaggeration there. I stuck my face back into the water. No doubt about it—these fish were huge! And they were everywhere!
    A large group of fish began to gather around me, and I suddenly felt like I was in a Rick Moranis movie called Honey, I Like Way Overfed the Guppies. Then one of the obvious leaders of the pack grinned, and I saw teeth. That’s when I remembered the food, which I had shoved into my fanny pack. Could they smell it? Or could they just sense my fear like other wild animals do?
    I began to back up. They followed. I started swimming toward shore. They were right behind me. I swam faster, splashing and thrashing as nostalgic scenes from my pitifully short life played out in my mind.
    Finally my chest struck bottom. I tried to stand, but my flippers got caught and I fell. Then two large hands grabbed me, and the next thing I knew I was standing face-to-face with a 220-pound Samoan lifeguard.
    â€œWhat’re you, nuts?” he asked.
    â€œWarn everyone,” I shouted. “There’s giant man-eating fish out there.”
    â€œOh? You mean like those?” He pointed at two five-year-old girls, petting a school of large striped fish.
    â€œNo. These were much bigger and, ahh, ganglike rogues. Yeah, desperado fish. And they were after this.” I reached for my fanny pack so that I could warn him about the food. When I opened it, though, a little triggerfish jumped out and swam away.
    â€œThat’s the guy,” I heard a woman’s voice say. “He’s the one that talked about fishing.”
    â€œAll right, you’re coming with me.” The lifeguard grabbed my elbow and I was forced to duck-walk quickly along beside him.
    â€œThis is all a mistake,” I told him. “My wife will tell you. I’m really a nice guy.”
    He stopped. “Where’s your wife?”
    I looked around. Everyone was wearing masks and snorkels and breathing funny. It looked like a Star Wars outtake.
    â€œShe’s here. I swear. We came down on the trolley together. Although now I can’t find my return ticket. I think the fish with the teeth ate it.”
    â€œYou fed the fish