I've heard throughout my forty-two years on this planet that it's not a good idea to give too much thought to critics and naysayers, flamers and assholes.
And yet. Isn't that exactly what we do sometimes? Cling to that one little negative thing someone said, turn it over and over in our minds until it morphs into something completely different—bigger, more offensive, infuriating even. You shake your fists and foam at the mouth—Ooh why I oughta!
I used to do that. Before I went Primal. (Yes, two months into my experiment and I'm still reaping rewards. Pooping regularly, thank you, wee! Getting nuttier over it too, but that's a post for a different day. It involves bare feet. And chairlessness. I guess you could say it's the rabbit hole that keeps on giving. Bryan's still waiting for me to implode before he takes any of this seriously. He's given me till December, the six-month mark. Um, that's my disclaimer. He's an uber-rational guy, see.)
Okay. Back to the assholes. I received a nasty comment on my previous post. I hadn't gotten any negative comments in the six years since I started this blog—well there was that one a few months back when some anonymous poster told me to get a job. I cursed at the screen, deleted their comment, took their advice and wrote a novel.
Silver linings everywhere, right?
So this recent anonymous poster wrote, "You are a really crazy woman. Don't know you but maybe there was a point to that experience especially draining that animal looks like great fun for your kids."
Since I am filled with EPA and B vitamins, I didn't get too bent out of shape about it. I feel sane to the point of rejoicing each night as I lay myself to sleep, which makes plenty of other people seem WACKO, even though I'm the one thanking my clasped hands in the dark. I simply replied, "anonymous—grow some balls and reveal your identity. It's the least you can do, coming to my blog to bash me, you ignorant tool."
It felt so good!
But then I thought some more about it. I didn't receive too many comments on my last post and I wondered if maybe those photos of my daughter watching a deer getting skinned grossed people out. Maybe they were offended and thought I was crazy too, but since we're friends they didn't want to ruffle my meat-eating feathers.
Maybe Anonymous has a point, albeit a cowardly, disrespectfully presented point, with little care given to punctuation...
So what is the story with my five year-old daughter and the deer carcass anyway?
The story is simple: she wanted to watch. Bryan and I asked her repeatedly if she was sure she wanted to watch and she said yes every time, blowing not only our minds but the minds of the farmers too. She remained rooted to the ground and stared as the deer was skinned and sliced, beheaded and butchered. At one point, illustrated above, she stomped over to me and said, "It's sad but I can't stop watching." You know, car crash style. I offered to take her away. She said no. The next day when we dined on backstrap she politely declined as she had planned to do. She did eat the venison burger however.
And seven year-old Hamish? He opted out of the viewing but relished the steak. He wants no part of death, sensitive soul that he is, aside from consuming its spoils. We respect his wishes.
I have no problem with my daughter witnessing the butchering of an animal that is to be consumed if that is her wish. I am in good company, too. Anyone read The Dirty Life? Kristin and Mark Kimball are modern agricultural heroes and it makes me proud to have a tiny something in common with them. How do people think meat makes its way to their plates anyway? It's not elfin magic. Death is a part of life and in my omnivorous view, it's childish to pretend it's not. Better yet, demystify death and familiarize kids with the reality of it early on. (Now if only I could use this truth-logic to tackle Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy...) Anyway, a whole lot of animals die to grow vegetarian delights like lettuce and soy, corn and wheat. Entire ecosystems are wiped out to plant and sustain monocrops. I used to have a huge problem with the eating of animals which is why I was a vegetarian for a dozen years. I could have been that anonymous a-hole back when my main source for nutritional information came from John Robbins.
Growing up beats pretending you can outwit death at the table. But the news is good. It's called mutual indebtedness, and it's one of the reasons I am so thankful every night. For my food, my health, and for you, Kind Reader.
Thanks for tuning in,