I’m from and live in south Louisiana, and when I was a teenager, my family and some family friends went to a fishing camp in the swamp. One evening, I was fishing on the dock with the other kids when one of them caught something. He wrestled it to the dock and jerked his rod upwards in triumph. The fish swung out of the water and around in a circle before hitting me square in the back. It was a catfish, and its spine went straight in, adhering the fish solidly to me.

This world is full of odd experiences, but I’m not sure many are odder than the feeling of having a fish stuck in one’s body. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but there was a fish stuck in my back. I froze, and the boys (Andrew, Michael, and Michael [we’re a Catholic people]) jumped up and ran to the cabin, yelling, “[jake] has a fish stuck in her back!”

Our parents didn’t believe them, naturally, but I hollered loud enough to get their attention, at which point they put down their cards and came outside to witness me, standing on the dock, bent over, with a panicked catfish flopping around on my back. I can’t even imagine what that must have looked like.

After some mild consternation, my dad wrenched the fish off me and then used pliers to pull the spine out of my, well, spine. There was discussion of whether I needed to be boated to shore and see a doctor, but all the adults had been drinking, and I felt fine. So we left well enough alone, but my mom woke me up every 30 minutes that night to make sure I was still alive.

I have a somewhat low tolerance for people assuming a Louisiana childhood equals weird alligator swamp adventures, because it mostly doesn’t, but, well . . .

Have a great day, Avocados!