Her dad’s fish has grown 4 feet since 1994

Frank caught a fish in 1994. That’s the whole story, and he has told it 212 times.

His daughter Jess knows it’s 212 because she keeps a tally in her phone notes, under “Dad, fish.”

In the first version, the fish was 2 feet long. It put up a fight. Frank won.

By 2010, the fish was 4 feet long and had dragged the boat 100 yards. By 2018, it was 6 feet, it had looked Frank dead in the eye, and the boat had become a canoe. Last Christmas, the fish was the size of a grown man, there was a storm, and Frank was alone, holding the line with his teeth.

The family tried everything. They changed the subject. They left the room. Jess’s husband tried to get it over with before dessert by asking, “Frank, how big was that fish?” Frank said, “Bigger than you’d think,” and talked for 40 minutes. The fish got a name that night. Its name is Big Carl.

Jess’s mom stopped listening in 2003. She just nods at the part where Big Carl jumps.

So Jess brought Frank to me. She wanted him to let it go. I said that was the whole problem. He didn’t.

Frank sat down and told me about Big Carl. I let him finish. The storm, the teeth, the canoe, the look in its eye. He was magnificent. He welled up a little when Big Carl got away.

Then I asked him who else was in the boat.

He went very quiet. Because there was someone else in the boat. A skinny 24-year-old he’d met at the bait shop that morning, who held the net and saw the whole thing.

That was me.

It was a 6-inch trout. It was a sunny day. Frank leaned over to admire it, fell in, and screamed so loud a family on the shore packed up their picnic and left. The trout swam off. Frank sat in the bottom of the boat, soaking wet, and cried, and I promised him I’d never tell a living soul.

I kept that promise for 32 years. I’m a professional.

I told Jess on Tuesday. I told her mom on Wednesday. On Thursday I told the bait shop, which is still open, and they’ve put a photo of a 6-inch trout on the wall with a little sign under it that says “Big Carl.”

Frank hasn’t told the story since. Jess says the holidays are going to be very quiet this year.

Frank says that’s fine. He’s working on a new one. Apparently, in 1997, he wrestled a bear.

I was there for that too. It was a fucking raccoon.

If someone you love has a story that grows every year, there’s a short illustrated book about them. It’s called Everyone Is Toxic Except Me, and it’s about your favorite person.

Dr Doug Deeper. Fictional adult comedy. Not real therapy or relationship advice.