I stood at the end of the dock, holding my string. My father bent down next to me, tying a lump of chicken we didn’t eat onto the end.

“What do I do?” I asked.

He pointed to the ocean below us.

“Let it down gently,” he said.

I peered over the dock into the water. The ocean was a soft green, and the soft green hid the sea life. I wanted so badly to catch a crab. I loved melted butter and I wanted the melted butter.

“Do I drop it?” I asked.

My father had his hands on his knees.

“You can toss it in,” he said, thinking I would like that better. 

I tossed it, and the chicken went into the soft green.

“Let down more string,” he said.

I gave the ocean more string.

I want to say it was instantaneous. I want to say I waited not three seconds. But three seconds later, the string was bouncing in my hand, and the ocean was pulling it.

I looked up at my father and he lifted the string out of the green.

My father’s face had the look of a miracle.

“You got a double-header!” he said.

His hands lifted the two crabs out of the ocean, and I knew I was special.