He was 11 years old and went fishing every chance he got at his family's small house on an island in the middle of a New Hampshire lake.
On the day before the bass(鲈鱼)season opened, he and his father were fishing early in the evening, catching sunfish and bass with worms. Before long, when his pole doubled over, he knew something huge was on the other end. His father watched with admiration as the boy skillfully worked the fish alongside the bank and he very successfully lifted the tired fish from the water. It was the largest one he had ever seen, but it was a bass.
The boy and his father looked at the handsome fish, the fish jumped up and down in the moonlight. The father looked at his watch. It was 10 P.M.—two hours before the season opened. He looked at the fish, then at the boy. "You will have to put it back, my son," he said. "I have never seen such a big fish before." cried the boy. "There will be other fish," said his father. "The boy looked around the lake. No other fishermen or boats were anywhere around in the moonlight. He looked again at his father. Even though no one had seen them, nor could anyone ever know what time he caught the fish, the boy could tell by his father's voice that the decision was not be changed. He slowly worked the hook out of the lip of the huge bass and lowered it into the black water.
That was 34 years ago. And he has never again caught such a beautiful fish as the one he landed that night long ago. But he does see the fish again and again—every time he comes up against a question of ethics(伦理). For, as his father taught him, ethics are simple matters of right and wrong. It is only the practice of ethics that is difficult.
We would if we were taught to put the fish back when we were young. For we would have learned the truth. The decision to do right lives fresh in our memory. It is a story we will proudly tell our friends and grandchildren.