Candles On Salmon, Please

It's early 2009 and my phone is ringing. Only family or a telemarketer would call me during the work day.

"Hello?"

A kind voice announces "Hi, Spencer. It's Aunty Barb!"

"Oh, wow. How are you?" I ask. I haven't spoken to her or my Uncle Ray in a few years at this point.

"Oh, good, good good. I wondered if you wanted to go with Uncle Ray on his fishing trip this year. Uncle Doug, Pat, Greg, Uncle Alan, and more will likely be going, too." Typical of a man from our family to have his wife call on his behalf.

I felt deflated. I had dreamt of this fishing trip since I was a little boy. I spent so much time with my Uncle Ray, Aunty Barb, and cousin Sherrie growing up. My own dad not making many appearances in my life, Uncle Ray was like another father figure for me. He went on these trips yearly, bringing back enough ocean fish to supply multiple families all year. Whenever I would visit he would barbecue my favourite with just a bit of rock salt: Chinook Salmon.

This was the ultimate test of my will.

"I'm afraid I can't. I'm a vegetarian now," I said.

"Oh."

The single-word response was all I needed. Stating you were a vegetarian in our family was similar to stating you'd grown a second head.

We made awkward chit-chat for a few moments before we hung up.

My mind swam with memories.

---

My twelfth birthday party had a large turnout. More than a middle-lower-class kid would usually expect. Family and friends were concerned about me– my biological father had died a couple of months prior.

"What kind of cake do you want?" My mother had asked me two weeks earlier.

"Salmon," I replied.

She laughed. "Anyone you want to come?"

"Uncle Ray."

September second came, and it was a beautiful, sunny day. The white trellis of our back patio was shining brightly, and it smelled of freshly mowed grass.

My mom insisted I still choose an actual cake to accompany the salmon. A chocolate "money cake," I requested. An old tradition where your parents bake foil-wrapped money into the cake itself. They're less popular these days because people worry about kids chipping a tooth or choking.

Friends, cousins, and other family scattered around our back patio in a circle around me as I opened presents. One of my cousins got me a collection of comic books. I flipped through them, "Got that one, got that one." I look back on that moment now and shudder.

I wish I had been more grateful back then. Grateful and noticed the little things.

My step-father, Rick, trying his best to console and connect with me, banded with the other dads to build me a wooden clubhouse as a surprise. They had the entire thing put together while we kids were distracted with other things. It was honestly impressive, though I hadn't reacted much then.

I wandered the day mostly blunted. It's not like my biological father would have come to this party anyway. I can count on two hands the amount of times I saw him growing up.

It started to smell like salmon as it cooked on the barbecue, but it was taking a long time. In the meantime, slices of the money cake were shared around. The kids were all happy as they discovered quarters and dollars. I still looked out of sorts, and my mom could tell.

"He wants his other cake," she said. I smiled.

Having run out of propane, Uncle Ray and Rick teamed up to bring the salmon in from the barbecue and crank the oven as high as it would go. It would be almost another hour before it was finished, but we finally ate the salted pink flesh. I finally felt at ease, having the only thing I'd really wanted that day.

---

When I was thirteen, I became entranced in video games as escapism. My family rarely saw me outside of dinner time. I was in my room playing Final Fantasy 7 a lot lately.

My parents struggled to connect with me, and I found myself consciously mimicking others at school in order to fit in. I would mirror phrases and behaviour almost verbatim. It would still be years before I received a diagnosis of being on the autism spectrum.

I was home alone for the evening, my parents often working late or nights I didn't always know when they'd be around or not. I'd already been playing my game in the rec room, grinding my characters' levels up, for two hours.

Slam. Cough. Stomp stomp.

When the rec room door opened, a package of smoked salmon hit my lap, along with a box of cheddar Ritz crackers right after. My dad, Rick, stood over me, smiling.

"Thought you could use a snack," he said.

"Thanks!" I replied, shaken away from my intense concentration.

I found that I didn't mind the interruption.