Several weeks ago, Mom and I went out to dinner at the local Chinese buffet and started a conversation on things that we think are a privilege to enjoy.
A few of them are listed below:
- Eating at a buffet
- Living in America
- Sweet tea
- Living in the Mountains
- Chocolate chip cookies
- Hot water
- Clean restrooms
- Ice cream
- Holding a dead rabbit
- Uh, what’d you say?
- It was a privilege to hold the rabbit.
Ok, Mom, I think we have a problem.
“Oh, you mean I’ve never told you that story about my dad,” Mom said.
“No, you haven’t. I think I would remember that.”
“Well, I was really young–not yet in first grade and went Daddy killed a rabbit, it was a privilege for us kids to hold the top of the rabbit while he gutted it,” said Mom.
“You don’t say,” I replied, trying not to gag in between bites of my chop suey and Mongolian Beef.
“Yep. I think six or seven of us kids were around at that age and we took turns holding the rabbit. I’ve always had a sensitive stomach, you know?”
“Really? I’m not feeling so good myself,” I said.
“Anyway,” she continued digging into a baked oyster, “it was my turn and Daddy held the rabbit up for me to grab. Now, I didn’t want to miss my turn, so I closed my eyes and grabbed the rabbit.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“I don’t remember,” Mom said. “I passed out.”
“Where are you going?” she asked as I got up from the table.
“I don’t know, but I hope it has a clean restroom.”