It's Messy

I was a middle schooler the very first time I tried to “clean” a fish. There was nothing clean about it. It was a mess.  The fish had expired some time ago, but when I was done with it, I couldn’t help but feeling sorry for it (or what was left of it!). My dad, who was overseeing my first fumbling attempt, laughed good-naturedly at the gory havoc I had wreaked. I remember getting angry. I remember feeling ashamed. I tossed the knife on to the bloody carving board, and mumbled out a frustrated excuse, “I think the knife is dull.” 

He didn’t say a thing but simply grabbed the next plump trout on the stringer and, with staggering speed, economy and grace of movement I saw him carve out two perfect boneless filets.  He smiled, looked at me and said, “There is nothing wrong with this knife son.”