In his teen years, Reg, as a daredevil, jumped over his mother and her friends at a tea party; his mom appeared to allow it and, due to her professionalism, at least acted as if she did not mind. (“The Flying Fishmonger”)
When he was young, Reg was relatively hotheaded. As an adult, he lost this trait and became more cautious and casual. He enjoys relaxing and a comfortable life, though he is still just as reckless and has not lost his sense of adventure. He is also very intelligent, a trait passed to his son, Lawrence. Reg carries a deep cockney accent which is the cause of confusion to his grandchildren; his phrases and choices of words are a source of unending confusion for Phineas, who requires Ferb to translate what he can. (“The Flying Fishmonger”, “A Hard Day’s Knight”, “Elementary My Dear Stacy)
Later in the visit, during the pouring rain, Reginald told to his grandchildren the legend of ancestor Ferbgor and his master, Dr. Phineastein. His senility caused him to forget doing so immediately afterward. (“The Monster of Phineas-n-Ferbenstein”)
Winifred is nicknamed “Winnie” by Reginald as somewhat of a “pet name.” The two are happily married and live comfortably in a loft in England. Winifred apparently wears plugs in her nose because of the smell of Reg’s feet. (“A Hard Day’s Knight,” “Elementary My Dear Stacy”, “Picture This”)
When his grandson Ferb left his skateboard at Reginald’s house, Reg became quite the expert at using it. However, when Phineas and Ferb attempted to get the board back, they unknowingly turned their grandfather’s feet backwards. Reg was happy about this as he could finally see where he had been. It is not known what happened afterward, but his next appearance shows his feet facing in the normal direction. (“Picture This”)
Born in England somewhere, Reg’s father owned or worked at a Fish & Chips shop. Reg would work at the store with his father, and even advertise it, wearing a large fish suit. His mother did not work, and enjoyed tea with her friends. (“The Flying Fishmonger”)
As a teenager, he decided to become a daredevil. He chose to honor his father’s Fish & Chips shop by dubbing himself the “Flying Fishmonger,” riding on a mackerel-shaped motorcycle named the Holy Mackerel. He became a roar around England, famous for jumping over large and vast things, such as a whale and even the Queen and her guards. He had a very dull theme song played by a group of singers, which would end up being his career downfall. (“The Flying Fishmonger”)
Reg, Phineas, and Ferb after the recreation-flight.
Reginald eventually settled down and married a woman named Winifred. Together they had two sons Adrian and Lawrence Fletcher. In Lawrence’s youth, he was an avid fisherman (likely doing so with Reg.) Adrian married a woman named Lucy and had 5 sons and a daughter. Lawrence grew up to marry and have a son, and then remarry with an American woman named Linda (“The Lake Nose Monster,” “A Hard Day’s Knight,” “The Flying Fishmonger”, “Dude, We’re Getting the Band Back Together”).
Reginald Fletcher, nicknamed Reg, is a former daredevil known as The Flying Fishmonger. He is the grandfather of Ferb Fletcher, the step-grandfather of Candace, and Phineas Flynn, husband to Winifred Fletcher, and father of Lawrence Fletcher and Adrian Fletcher. He is British, and he speaks in a…
What I am wondering is it through achievements that we can emphatically declare to have reached the best of ourselves, the continued recognition, applause and acceptance into prestigious almost mythical “walks of life” graced only by the selected ones to float in rarified air? Individually, how can we honestly be certain.
How does one decide what they truly like, content in accepting their desires to actually live them, and, even more definitively, what they truly do not like as to not live a contrived existence? More appropriately is it better to ponder the question … what is best for me in producing the best of myself ? Is an answer even attainable in knowing precisely when you have reached the “best of yourself”? Perhaps a list of goals on a sheet of paper with over sized ticks emphasising their completion accompanying each line… a series of times each lowering until you simply cannot nudge under one particular time… or a bunch of words in the shape of a mountain relating to employment positions within a company starting from base camp finally ending with the word “BOSS” brightly encircled at the summit.
Years had passed by producing extraordinary discoveries providing seemingly the unimaginable with regularity never seen before. Wars had been fought with insurmountable human loss, spilling enough blood to fill the seas. People became wealthy beyond comprehension, gathering and collecting at will, the need to survive surpassed by the greed of desire. Throughout these years at the very same time, more and more people began to die, sickness and illness never seen before appeared with no warning, people without homes in numbers unknown and even animals we knew ceased to exist. Mother Nature seemed unsettled, angrier than ever before with her devastating powers unleashed more often than before.
Resourcefully plentiful assuring village taxes were comfortably met, the boys future lay certain should he continue to nurture and protect, as generations before him, his vestibule in life.
In accordance with time deciding ones journey complete, the now young man’s parents had both passed and as he was yet to procure a relationship himself, silence itself had become a regular guest. Day after day without varied routine other than slight differences to time with seasonal changes and unforeseen weather, the mans existence remained fairly predictable and simple in requirement.
Resting peacefully one morning the now very old man, who had never married or procured a partner, no children or dependents heard a voice telling him his journey was complete. Unfazed and unmoved by what he had heard, without sadness or joy he simply was content with a life he thought best.
With so many people all different to the next, covering lands spread far and wide each culturally unique to themselves, can we more accurately be deemed to have reached our best, extracting everything we could from our own individual capabilities from simply what we did not do, achieve or accomplish? Can success be measured purely by the fact you brought no harm to another, destroyed nothing as to erase its existence, that you did not take more than required therefore allowing others to prosper and in turn having no contribution to decimating the lands upon which we in fact, truth be told, only lease from Mother Nature?
I will tell of a story many moons old… a man from a small village called Riomaggiore in the Liguria region of Italy. Born of no “significant stock” as an only child, his younger years passed without incident or fanfare acquiring a basic education and learning the necessary skills to benefit proficiently and abundantly from what one day would become his own, his family’s land. Earth of no great size nestled into the steep formidable terrain of La Spezia’s rugged beauty, it was sufficient enough for the man to be self sustainable in the ways required to live his life. A humble dwelling providing shelter and warmth from the unpredictable moods of mother nature, running water to capture and store and soil so pure in fertility it’s richness tasted from the many offerings prised from its earthy womb behind small walls of rock keeping out fattened goats and swine content as could be, appearing arrogantly impervious to the swinging blade awaiting their fate.
If we are fortunate to hear the message that our journey has reached its completion, I am sure without intention judgment shall fall upon us with concise, unambiguous certainty, the realisation of our ultimate truth.
How does one decide what they truly like, content in accepting their desires to actually live them, and, even more definitively, what they truly do not like as to not live a contrived existence? More…