12/02/10…I admit I have been blessed with a loving family so I
write from this perspective. Some of you may relate. I find it interesting how as
kids we put our parents and grandparents on pedestals. From a child’s eyes,
they can do no wrong and if they did do some wrong, surely it was justified in
some way and we are quick to forgive them. It is a rude awakening though when
one day we realize they are not perfect. That day usually comes in the early
pre-teen years. We realize maybe they don’t know everything and just maybe they
could be wrong about some things. As we reach our teenage years, it seems we
swing too much on the other side of the pendulum. Maybe this is God’s way of
helping us break from the nest, I am not sure. All I know is a day comes when
we realize our parents are not perfect. Yet I think we hold onto our
grandparents being perfect for a longer time, probably because they may not be
around us as often, so the illusion remains intact longer. However, sometimes
there comes a day of reckoning.
For me, I realized my Grandma was no longer perfect when she cut
the head off a live chicken. That’s right. It was a traumatic event in my life.
Please do not laugh. The story goes like this: at age 10 or so, I remember
walking with my Grandma out towards the chicken coop. She said she was going to
start dinner. Me, being a city boy, meant I did not quite understand why we
were going to the chicken coop when we should be going to the grocery store. My
Grandma was probably 67 or so at the time. Her gait due to her age was a little
slow as she and I made our way from the house to the chicken coop. She made
some small talk with me as we enjoyed a wonderful moment together.
I remember seeing a tree stump by a ditch on the way to the coop
but really thought nothing of the tree stump. Such naiveté. I can still smell
the black Pee Dee dirt and hear the cackles from the hens. In fact, the cackles
of the hens sounded much like the slow southern drawl my Grandma spoke. As I
stood outside the coop, my Grandma proceeds to go inside the pen and as the
chickens rush around, she corners one and grabs it by the neck. Oh my I think
to myself. She comes back out and closes the gate. Then she makes her way over
to the tree stump where I am standing. The next moment happened so quickly I am
still stunned to this day.
Actually, I think I am trying to repress the memory. As I stand
looking at Grandma, Grandma produces an axe. The chickens head is laid against
the stump. Suddenly, in a stupefied manner, I begin to connect the dots. As if
on cue my mouth drops in disbelief. My Grandma raises the axe and in one fell
swoop, she cuts the chicken’s head off. The chicken’s body goes into
convulsions and bounces around the yard doing the chicken dance (sorry couldn’t
help myself). Bits of blood are flying into the air and I receive a little
splatter on my face and arm. In disbelief I just stand there in shock watching
this chicken body dance across the yard. Then I look over and see my sweet
Grandma. I see her holding the head of the chicken.
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