Editor's Query

Tell us about a time that the lesson taught was not the one learned

When my son Stephen was 3, the most difficult life lessons he'd had to learn were along the lines of: If you wait too long to eat your ice cream cone, it will melt all over your hands and eventually fall over onto the sidewalk.

But the day came when I had to talk to him about the Big One: death. Mr. Fishy, Stephen's pet goldfish, had been floating on top of the water in his small tank when my son woke up that morning.

"What's wrong with Mr. Fishy, Mommy?" Stephen asked as I prepared breakfast. He was doing his usual fine job of sprinkling around goldfish food, except this time the fish wasn't, uh, biting.

"Oh, no," I thought, while Stephen -- attempting to coax the dead goldfish into eating -- pushed Mr. Fishy around with his finger.

How to explain the complexities of pet death to my innocent son?

"Um, Stephen, well, it's like this," I said, crouching down, hands on my son's shoulders. "Mr. Fishy doesn't get hungry anymore. He can't eat anymore. He can't swim anymore. He doesn't breathe anymore." My eyes filled with tears as my son looked at me solemnly. I took a deep breath.

"He . . . he isn't alive anymore, Stephen. Do you understand what I'm saying, sweetheart?"

Stephen took one last look at the tank.

"Yes, Mommy," he said in a serious tone. "We need to get a new fish."

Mary Ellen Webb, Fairfax

New query: Tell us about a time when the wrong word was oddly appropriate. If you have a 100 percent true story taken from your own experience concerning the above query, send it to queries@washpost.com or The Washington Post Magazine, 1150 15th St. NW, Washington, D.C. 20071. Include your daytime phone number. Recount your story in 250 words or fewer. We'll pay you $50 if we use your tale.