I guess I left last week’s column on a bit of a cliffhanger - I’m sure my loyal readers (Shoutout to my mom and the guys who get the Tishomingo County News as part of a prison literacy program) have been on the edge of their seat wondering if, after my older son tested positive, did I catch Covid? Well, the child is ten, not a teenager yet, so he still has something to do with his parents. And included in that something to do with us includes coming within 6 feet of us on occasion. In fact, between the 10 and 5 year-old, my family unit lives its entire existence within the same 6 feet square. My children hang off me so tightly I can tell when someone has changed toothpastes. There’s no escape from the various feels, sounds and smells that emanate from the boys in my household. So, did I catch that very communicable disease from my son whose definition of personal space includes the word “our” instead of “mine”? Why yes, yes I did catch the very contagious illness, thank you for asking.
So, I haven’t felt much like preparing a column this week. I know that comes as a shock to those of you who would have never guessed I prepare for any of my columns. So, now free of the ‘vid (and way behind deadline), what am I to write about to fill this 600-odd word space? I think the first thing I have to do is what all red-blooded modern Americans are best at - complain. I had to miss two days of work and an entire three day weekend because, back in 2019, someone ATE A BAT?! Seriously, the great tragedy of the coronavirus may not be the lives that were lost but that a human being was once so hungry that he saw a bat - which looks like a malnourished rat with rabies - and said, “Looks delicious.”
I mean, we could have avoided this whole worldwide shutdown if we could have just got a Snickers into this guy’s hand. I cannot fathom the hunger it would have taken for me to eat bat - and this is coming from a guy who, as a child, regularly and enthusiastically consumed Vienna sausages by the can.
Hunger will make you do strange things. It reminds me of the old story from the Pleasant Hill community outside Iuka, which often wasn’t pleasant and never was a hill, back when times were particularly tough for an old, retired farmer.
“All you eat is turnip greens?” asked the other old men at the barber shop. “That’s all I need to eat,” said the old farmer, “I eat turnip greens three times a day.” The other old men couldn’t believe it. “But no one can eat just one thing,” they said. “Shoot,” the old farmer replied, “turnip greens is the only thing I feed my cat, and he’s just fine.” Now, the other old men roared, “You do not feed your cat turnip greens!” “I do too,” the old farmer said, “every morning and every evening my cat eats a big bowl of turnip greens.” The men replied, “Surely the cat is living off field mice.” “No,” said the old farmer, “this was my wife’s cat and she made me promise, before she died, that I’d keep it inside. And I keep a clean house with no mice.” Well, the old men didn’t know how to respond, as the old farmer was known far and wide as an honest man - honest as he was poor. Finally, one of the gathered men said, “I don’t think I could get my cat to eat turnip greens.” The old farmer nodded and said, “Mine didn’t either for the first 30 days.”
I guess I could eat a bat if I was hungry enough. But, for now, thank God for turnip greens.