You see the truth through a glass bowl?

         He sat in a little glass bowl, and he lived a happy life. His name was Socrates, and he was the family goldfish. The family consisted of Lewis, a laid-back man with deep brown eyes, and Chelsey, a pretty woman with light blue eyes that sparkled, even when they had tears in them. All Socrates ever paid attention to was their eyes, because that was what they showed him. They always came and watched him when they had time, and he didn't mind. He knew he was helping.
         Socrates was a big part of the family, because he was the one that Lewis and Chelsey could always talk to. They had married far too young, and would have been divorced already, had it not been for Socrates. He was always there, swimming, eating, but most of all listening. "I just don't understand him, Socrates," said Chelsey to him one day. "I give him dinner, and I wash his clothes, and I clean our house, and he is cold to me. He doesn't hold me anymore. I didn't do anything to deserve a man like him." Socrates swam down and looked at her, thoughtfully. "Did I?" she asked herself. "He does fix things around here, and he does say he loves me, perhaps I could love him in return." Socrates tilted his head, and she smiled. That night, she spoke to Lewis kindly and gently, and before they went to bed, what Socrates didn't see was that he kept his arm securely around her, and whispered "I do love you," in her ear.
         Socrates had always helped them like that. He would sit in his bowl, and swim and eat, and look at them when they spoke to him. He seemed the center of the household, and they couldn't live without him, he was so as a child to them. Through him, they remembered why they had married, they respected and loved each other, and they raised wonderful children of their own.
         But what they didn't remember was that Socrates was indeed a goldfish, and not a child. And one day, as their little girl Angela sat in front of the goldfish bowl, she began to sniffle, and then sob. As Lewis and Chelsey came running, they saw what had caused their little girl such distress. Poor Socrates was floating, belly-up in his bowl. They had lost him, and had not thought to say goodbye, or thank him for what he did. And so they wrote on his small tombstone, "Socrates, into paradise may the angels carry you, and thank you, you will never be forgotten."