My father was not much of a hands on kind of dad, but he did make an effort from time to time, probably at the insistance of my mother.
One such time he took me to the store to buy goldfish. We picked out a fish bowl and four fish, two standard goldfish and a couple of fancier looking bug-eyed fish. This was not a fancy fish store but more of a variety store where you picked fish out of various bowls with a net, put them in a box full of water that looked like a chinese take-out cartoon and headed on your way.
As it turned out, our selection process was a little less than perfect. The morning after I got the fish the two goldfish had disappeared, apparently having been eaten by the bug-eyed fish. A tough lesson, but c'est la vie.
The two bug-eyed fish fared well for the next few days, until I tried to clean the fish bowl. Before I even got started with the cleaning process I dropped the bowl and it shattered on the kitchen floor. This was immediately fatal for one of the bug-eyed fish and somehow resulted in me cutting a small chunk out of my ring finger near the knuckle. The other bug-eyed fish survived, but he had only one of his buggy-eyes left. He survived, briefly, with just one eye, but ended up succumbing to his injuries.
I was sadly left with no fish and a scar on my finger. The fish are, mostly, long forgotten and the scar is barely visible these many years later. It is just visible enough to remind me that my dad did make an effort.