About eight weeks ago we received a call from our neighborhood post office. This is what they said on our answering machine, "Um...hello. We have a package for the Glick residence...it is...err...it's a box of chicklets." And so we became part of the urban poultry movement! Twenty-five "chicklets" to be exact. The colorful journey has included the untimely death of some baby chicks as well as full grown roosters (14 of them) trying to kill one another -- and succeeding on several occasions. We had no idea what we were getting into when we began this endeavor. And, although I could pass on crawling into the poop filled coop in galoshes and rubber gloves to apply pine tar to 11 bloody, oozy fowls, mostly the experience has been positive, albeit a lot of work, and also ripe with good story material.
So last Saturday Greg loaded the old truck up with 11 not-so-bloody-oozy roosters, happily popping their heads out the rear window, en route to Simla, Colorado...home of the local poultry processing plant. He returned with 11 plucked, processed, and plasticked chickens in a cooler. One of the roosters we had fondly named Fattie (naming him was our first mistake) when he was a chick. Fattie was...well...quite fat and put on weight rapidly -- (some chickens are apparently bred for this feature). Greg triumphantly placed nine of the neatly wrapped chickens in the deep freeze and proceeded to roast the remaining two. I was dismayed. Could I really eat Fattie?
It has been more than six years since I jumped off the wagon of vegetarianism. Since that time I have done my best to be a conscientious consumer purchasing "free-range" meats that, as Toby so succinctly put it when he was 4, "were treated nicely before they were killed." But eating an animal that I have fed and raised? Consuming the flesh of an animal that I had once held tenderly held in my hand?
Needless to say, I did not partake in the ceremonial eating of rooster Saturday with my boys. However, this afternoon I gingerly took the Fattie leftovers out of the frig and made chicken salad with him. I haven't eaten the chicken salad yet but I did prepare it...all the while feeling like I really should be a vegetarian again. I am struck by how removed I have become from my food...especially from the animals that I eat. So I sit here struggling with how to let go of my anthropomorphized version of our chickens while having integrity around what I consume.
At this moment, there seems no easy or clear answer. Maybe my solution lies somewhere between saying goodbye to Fattie and his friends with a ritual of thanks and prayer, to assuage my guilty conscience, and consuming meat with more awareness. Regardless, it looks like we're having chicken salad for dinner tonight.
Thanks Fattie.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
The Knights of Columbus....
The holiday season is officially here! With the stores full of Halloween paraphernalia and Christmas supplies readily positioned to take their place, I am preparing for another season of candy, cakes, cookies, and other sugary edibles.
On Sunday, after church, we all went to the neighborhood grocery store. As we approached the entrance, I noticed a man wearing a Knights of Columbus vest ringing a bell for donations. As I began looking through my purse for some change, the man kindly offered Toby a large candy bar. Toby's face lit up as I jumped in, "No, no. Thank you sir but we'll pass." To which he replied, "No really. He can have it." Toby's hand went up to reach for the bar but I stopped him repeating, "No. Thank you but no." The 'ol knights are a persistent bunch and the fella went on, "Yes...he can have it!" It was all I could do not to thwack him over the head with my purse. When did I turn over my parental rights to this stranger? Who was he to insist upon giving something -- candy or not -- to my kid. Finally, I reluctantly pulled out my trump card..."No. He has diabetes." The man simply said, "Oh." And turned to the next family.
Of course, the next ten minutes were occupied with Toby begging for the candy and saying, "I could save it for later Mom!" I could open a 7-11 with all of the junk I have in my house that has been "saved for later". I was short with Toby, taking out my frustrations with the vested man on him as Toby, naturally, was huffy about not getting the candy.
And so the holiday season begins. I don't mean to complain about the generosity of people with my child. Certainly, Toby would love to have all of the treats that are readily available for children everywhere. However, being put in the position to explain or defend my choices as a parent is exhausting. I generally don't like to point to Toby's diabetes as the reason for limiting the sugary snacks -- I limited them, as most of my friends do, before the onset of his illness. Naming the illness...naming it to strangers...naming it to myself...it feels so painful to me. I feel naked -- like I'm exposing myself. Exposing myself to this person who I don't even know...selling a bit of soul in order to not seem rude or socially inappropriate by simply walking away. I also feel like I'm stamping my kid on the forehead with a large red ink mark that screams "DEFECTIVE" or "DIFFERENT". Sure, I am the first one to argue the benefits of a society that is diverse...where we can celebrate our differences and learn for these unique characteristics. And, there is different and there is different.
Toby is so many things besides having diabetes. I suppose part of my strong reaction to the Knights of Columbus man was feeling like (1) I had to defend my choices as a parent but also (2) I labeled my kid in front of a stranger because it was an easy way to stop the interaction. I made the choice to label Toby for my own benefit -- to get on with grocery shopping -- rather than disengaging and walking away. It's funny how I can get wrapped up in the way others might label my kid when in fact I am guilty of doing it too. It is embarassing to admit but there it is.
Eventually, we made it to the produce section and Toby was engaged with trying samples at the deli. As we left the grocery store, the Knights were back holding out a candy to Toby happily saying, "Here you go! Have a candy bar!"
On Sunday, after church, we all went to the neighborhood grocery store. As we approached the entrance, I noticed a man wearing a Knights of Columbus vest ringing a bell for donations. As I began looking through my purse for some change, the man kindly offered Toby a large candy bar. Toby's face lit up as I jumped in, "No, no. Thank you sir but we'll pass." To which he replied, "No really. He can have it." Toby's hand went up to reach for the bar but I stopped him repeating, "No. Thank you but no." The 'ol knights are a persistent bunch and the fella went on, "Yes...he can have it!" It was all I could do not to thwack him over the head with my purse. When did I turn over my parental rights to this stranger? Who was he to insist upon giving something -- candy or not -- to my kid. Finally, I reluctantly pulled out my trump card..."No. He has diabetes." The man simply said, "Oh." And turned to the next family.
Of course, the next ten minutes were occupied with Toby begging for the candy and saying, "I could save it for later Mom!" I could open a 7-11 with all of the junk I have in my house that has been "saved for later". I was short with Toby, taking out my frustrations with the vested man on him as Toby, naturally, was huffy about not getting the candy.
And so the holiday season begins. I don't mean to complain about the generosity of people with my child. Certainly, Toby would love to have all of the treats that are readily available for children everywhere. However, being put in the position to explain or defend my choices as a parent is exhausting. I generally don't like to point to Toby's diabetes as the reason for limiting the sugary snacks -- I limited them, as most of my friends do, before the onset of his illness. Naming the illness...naming it to strangers...naming it to myself...it feels so painful to me. I feel naked -- like I'm exposing myself. Exposing myself to this person who I don't even know...selling a bit of soul in order to not seem rude or socially inappropriate by simply walking away. I also feel like I'm stamping my kid on the forehead with a large red ink mark that screams "DEFECTIVE" or "DIFFERENT". Sure, I am the first one to argue the benefits of a society that is diverse...where we can celebrate our differences and learn for these unique characteristics. And, there is different and there is different.
Toby is so many things besides having diabetes. I suppose part of my strong reaction to the Knights of Columbus man was feeling like (1) I had to defend my choices as a parent but also (2) I labeled my kid in front of a stranger because it was an easy way to stop the interaction. I made the choice to label Toby for my own benefit -- to get on with grocery shopping -- rather than disengaging and walking away. It's funny how I can get wrapped up in the way others might label my kid when in fact I am guilty of doing it too. It is embarassing to admit but there it is.
Eventually, we made it to the produce section and Toby was engaged with trying samples at the deli. As we left the grocery store, the Knights were back holding out a candy to Toby happily saying, "Here you go! Have a candy bar!"
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