My hubby has a similar story about the pet lamb that disappeared and then after a bite of Easter dinner, his grandfather asked the family, "How do you like Wooly?" When I hear this story repeated I get physically ill--the cruelty is overwhelming to me. And it gives me perspective of how that can tarnish the heart and mind of a child, and be passed on to the next generations. Even now, more than 70 years later, when he tells this story, the betrayal and hurt in his voice and countenance break my heart. My fears were of my father's booming, angry, threatening voice--a sure way for us kids to cower and be silent. Now, I know that his overwhelming stress to provide for his family, and the abuse that he endured as a child, and in the war, were part of that, but it took me more than half my life to come to terms with that and find compassion for the man who suffered such harsh wounds in his life. And compassion for my mom and brothers, and myself. We all bear scars. The grief causes me to weep even now. I'm grateful that you share and encourage stories, Trish. You help to expose pieces of us that remind us of our humanity--both fragility and strength.
It was food and we were lucky to have it, is a phrase that I heard over and over growing up. Even if it was true (it was) it was also guilt. Good morning Trish.
My father was a hunter, who thought it was hilarious to tell 3, 4, and 5 year-old me that he was "gonna go shoot Bambi" before his fall hunting trips. I doubt I need to say more . . .
My hubby has a similar story about the pet lamb that disappeared and then after a bite of Easter dinner, his grandfather asked the family, "How do you like Wooly?" When I hear this story repeated I get physically ill--the cruelty is overwhelming to me. And it gives me perspective of how that can tarnish the heart and mind of a child, and be passed on to the next generations. Even now, more than 70 years later, when he tells this story, the betrayal and hurt in his voice and countenance break my heart. My fears were of my father's booming, angry, threatening voice--a sure way for us kids to cower and be silent. Now, I know that his overwhelming stress to provide for his family, and the abuse that he endured as a child, and in the war, were part of that, but it took me more than half my life to come to terms with that and find compassion for the man who suffered such harsh wounds in his life. And compassion for my mom and brothers, and myself. We all bear scars. The grief causes me to weep even now. I'm grateful that you share and encourage stories, Trish. You help to expose pieces of us that remind us of our humanity--both fragility and strength.
Yes, the stories are the same, you’ve written so lovely-weeping even now. Thank you Nancy
It was food and we were lucky to have it, is a phrase that I heard over and over growing up. Even if it was true (it was) it was also guilt. Good morning Trish.
Good morning Maureen, lots of interesting food stories for all of us.
My father was a hunter, who thought it was hilarious to tell 3, 4, and 5 year-old me that he was "gonna go shoot Bambi" before his fall hunting trips. I doubt I need to say more . . .
Yep, amazing their “sense” of humor.
Serendipitous. I'm working on a (true) story about a hen who became soup. If it ever becomes readable I'll share it with you.
Sounds good Eileen, sure wish we had been able to get together before you moved.