Would You Like Seconds?

When I was a child, my family often went to my grandparents for Sunday lunch. We lived about 15 miles from my grandparents. So, we’d go to church and then head out afterwards for lunch. My aunts, uncles, and cousins would join us for many of those occasions.

Those lunches were really a nuthouse coming together. There were six grandchildren—all boys (with me being the oldest). There were three aunts and three uncles. There were two grandparents, and my parents, of course. So, when we all got together, the house was full! There were 16 of us, if I did the math right.

Even at a young age, I could see the different dynamics of how the different families operated. Their families were far from perfect, but then, so was mine. We all had a peculiar ways, I suppose.

My grandfather would often go out early on Sunday morning to their backyard to catch and kill a chicken or two for Sunday lunch. For as long as I can remember, my grandparents had dozens of chickens. Those chickens laid eggs that were eaten, and when they stopped laying eggs, they were fair game for Sunday lunch!

I remember one of those Sunday lunches in particular. We were having chicken and dumplings. (If you aren’t from the South, you probably don’t know about chicken and dumplings—I’ll have to blog about them more some other time—but, that’s not the point of this blog.) We were all enjoying our lunch, eating as much chicken and dumplings as we could. My grandmother sure knew how to make the best chicken and dumplings! Even my uncle, who didn’t really like anything my grandmother cooked, was really enjoying himself. He not only had seconds, he went back for thirds! I had never seen him eat so much.

All the while, I kept watching my grandmother and grandfather as they watched my uncle eat. They could hardly contain their smiles—I knew something was up! I didn’t know what it was, but my mother was in on it.

After the meal, we all thanked my grandmother for the wonderful Sunday lunch. Even my unusual uncle thanked her—I had never heard that before. Finally, my grandmother spoke up. She said, “So Max, you enjoyed the chicken and dumplings, did you?” “Oh yes, those were the best I’ve ever put into my mouth!” came his reply.

My grandmother was pleased. But, she also wanted my Uncle Max to know that what he had just eaten was not chicken and dumplings. You see, their chickens were laying too good to kill one of them! So, that morning, my grandfather had butchered one of their rabbits! Oh, did I forget to tell you that my grandparents also raised rabbits? Well, they had forgotten to tell all of us about butchering the rabbit and using him/her in the dumplings that day.

That was the last time my Uncle Max ever ate at my grandparents. Honest, it was.

We kept going to my grandparents. The rabbit didn’t bother us. After all, it really did taste like chicken anyway!