He was 11 years old and went fishing every chance he got from the dock at his family's cabin on an island in the middle of a New Hampshire lake.

On the day before the bass season opened, he and his father were fishing early in the evening, catching sunfish and perch with worms. Then he tied on a small silver lure and practiced casting. The lure struck the water and caused colored ripples in the sunset, then silver ripples as the moon rose over the lake.

When his peapole doubled over, he knew something huge was on the other end. His father watched with admiration as the boy skillfully worked the fish alongside the dock.

Finally, he very gingerly lifted the exhausted fish from the water. It was the largest one he had ever seen, but it was a bass.

The boy and his father looked at the handsome fish, gills playing back and forth in the moonlight. The father lit a match and looked at his watch. It was 10 P.M.-- two hours before the season opened. He looked at the fish, then at the boy.

"You'll have to put it back, son," he said.

"Dad!" cried the boy.

"There will be other fish," said his father.

"Not as big as this one," cried the boy.

He looked around the lake. No other fishermen or boats were anywhere around in the moonlight. He looked again at his father. Even though no one had seen them, nor could anyone ever know what time he caught the fish, the boy could tell by the clarity of his father's voice that the decision was not negotiable. He slowly worked the hook out of the lip of the huge bass and lowered it into the black water.

The creature swished its powerful body and disappeared. The boy suspected that he would never again see such a great fish.

That was 34 years ago. Today, the boy is a successful architect in New York City. His father's cabin is still there on the island in the middle of the lake. He takes his own son and daughters fishing from the same dock.

And he was right. He has never again caught such a magnificent fish as the one he landed that night long ago. But he does see that same fish-again and again-every time he comes up against a question of ethics.

For, as his father taught him, ethics are simple matters of right and wrong. It is only the practice of ethics that is difficult. Do we do right when no one is looking? Do we refuse to cut corners to get the design in on time? Or refuse to trade stocks based on information that we know we aren't supposed to have?

We would if we were taught to put the fish back when we were young. For we would have learned the truth. The decision to do right lives fresh and fragrant in our memory. It is a story we will proudly tell our friends and grandchildren. Not about how we had a chance to beat the system and took it, but about how we did the right thing and were forever strengthened.

他11歲那時，只要一有機會，就會到他家在新漢普郡湖心島上的小屋的碼頭上釣魚。

鱸魚季節(jié)開放的前一天晚上，他和父親早早開始垂釣，用小蟲作餌釣太陽魚和鱸魚。他系上魚餌，練習(xí)如何拋線。魚鉤擊在水面，在夕陽中漾起一片金色的漣漪，夜晚月亮升出湖面時，漣漪就成了銀色。

當(dāng)魚桿向下彎的時候，他知道線的另一端一定釣到了一條大魚。父親看著他技巧純熟地在碼頭邊沿和魚周旋，眼神充滿贊賞。

最后他小心翼翼地將筋疲力盡的魚提出水面。這是他所見過的最大的一條，還是一條鱸魚。

男孩和他父親看著這條漂亮的魚，它的魚鰓在月光下一張一翕。父親點燃一根火柴，看了看表。十點了--離開禁還有兩個小時。他看了看魚，又看了看男孩。

"你得把它放回去，孩子，"他說道。

"爸爸!"男孩叫道。

"還有其他的魚嘛，"父親說道。

"但沒這么大，"男孩叫道。

他環(huán)視了一遍湖。月光下附近沒有其他的漁民或船只。他又看了看他父親。從父親不可動搖的語氣中，他知道這個決定沒有商量余地，即使沒有人看到他們，更無從得知他們何時釣到了魚。他慢慢地將魚鉤從大鱸魚的唇上取下，然后蹲下將魚放回水中。

魚兒擺動著它強健的身軀，消失在水中。男孩想，他可能再也看不到這么大的魚了。

那是34年前的事了。現(xiàn)在，男孩是紐約的一個成功的建筑師。他父親的小屋依然在湖心島上，他帶著自己的兒女仍然在同一個碼頭上釣魚。

他猜得沒錯。自那次以后，他再也沒有見過那么大的魚了。但每次他面臨道德難題而舉棋不定的時候，他的眼前總是浮現(xiàn)出那條魚。

他父親曾告訴他，道德即是簡單的對和錯的問題，但要付諸行動卻很難。在沒人瞧見的時候，我們是否仍始終如一，一絲不茍?為了將圖紙及時送到，我們是不是也會抄近路?或者在明知道不可以的情況下，仍將公司股份賣掉?

在我們還小的時候，如果有人要我們把魚放回去，我們會這樣做，因為我們還在學(xué)習(xí)真理。正確的決定在我們的記憶里變得深刻而清晰。這個故事我們可以驕傲地講給朋友和子孫們聽，不是關(guān)于如何攻擊和戰(zhàn)勝某種體制，而是如何做正確的決定，從而變得無比堅強。