My dad admitted that he was as happy to find out that it was the jars all along, and not the traps themselves, because that meant he could continue using his father's old handmade traps, too. He decided right there to go get new bait boxes the next time we went into town, for all his traps. That day, my father also taught me some of the basics of crawfishing, such as never setting too many traps in the same place until June, because that is the end of their mating season; catching too many in one place in May could deplete the river for the rest of the season. When we finished pulling all the traps and dumping the entire catch into buckets of ice water, we put all the traps back in the truck and drove home to let mom turn our catch into her famous crawfish jambalaya and gumbo. Usually, my dad cooked all the crawfish for her behind the house by himself, but this time I joined him to help, and with dinner following shortly thereafter, my dad and I ended up spending his entire birthday together. We boiled them until they were bright red, the familiar aroma of cooked crawfish spreading through the yard and into the house. Since then, my dad and I have spent every one of his birthdays together the same way, and it has become a very special day for both of us, and for our entire family, ever since.

I also learned something about my father that day that, for which I only respected him more: Everybody else I knew cooked crawfish by tossing them, live, into the boiling pot of water. If they died before cooking,...

My dad showed me how to kill them instantly with the point of his sharp hunting knife right behind the head, and explained that it didn't change the texture of the meat at all if you tossed them into the pot immediately afterwards. My dad said that he did that because all animals, (even so-called "river bugs"), still experience physical pain, probably the same way we do. He said it was perfectly fine to eat them, and that crawfish hunt for fish, themselves; on the other hand, it always seemed unnecessarily cruel to him to kill them by boiling them alive, so he just felt better about it, doing it his way. Afterwards, my dad showed me how to "de-vein" them by taking out the alimentary canal with the end of a "church key."
I remember enjoying dinner that night even more than usual. Our catch had been so plentiful, that my mom was able to make all of our favorite dishes, instead of deciding between them, and there was still enough for us to nibble on as many tails and claws as we wanted, as an "appetizer" the whole time she prepared dinner. Normally, we got scolded for that (even my dad), because, as good as crawfish are, there really isn't all that much meat for all the work involved in catching them and preparing them.

That day has always been one of my fondest memories from my childhood, and ever since, my father's birthday has been one of the most enjoyable days for our family, but especially, for the two of us.