a childhood memory

my third post today as i'm recalling some childhood memories.  funny how something you see or someone says will spark a memory.  

today a friend of mine posted some vintage childhood photos on facebook.  one was of her holding a fish she had caught.  she was maybe four years old in the photo and had such a sad look on her face.  knowing her as an animal lover, i thought she probably was sad as a little girl, knowing that fish was dead.  it took me back to when i was about the same age, living on the farm outside of lodi, just down the road from my aunt and uncle.  

my uncle raised chickens and i never gave it much thought as to why.  i was after all maybe all of four years old.  but that day i'd heard my uncle talking, telling how it was time to butcher some chickens.  i remember being shocked, but said little.  i was always too scared of my uncle nick to say anything at all.  i don't think uncle nick was a mean man but he was always gruff and i think took some pleasure in making us think he was. 

later that night when i was in my bed i began to think about those poor chickens and wonder how anyone could kill them and why they would want to do such a thing.  of course by this time i'm sure i had enjoyed the tasty delight of fried chicken, but my four year old mind wasn't making that connection.  food was food and i don't remember at that point ever asking what it was i was eating.  my siblings and i ate what we were given.  if we didn't we went without.  needless to say, the thought of uncle nick killing chickens now had me convinced he was a horrible person.

laying in my bed that night i began thinking about the death of my uncle's chickens and began to cry.  eventually my mom came in and asked me why i was crying.  "uncle nick's going to kill the chickens!", i cried.  i don't recall my mother's words but somehow she explained to me that chickens were food and that was why he raised them.  i'm sure i was only partially satisfied with the answers given, but there wasn't much i could do but accept my mother's words and finally go to sleep.  that was the day i learned that chickens weren't pets or just fancy, feathery birds.  no, they were not.  they were food.