The Campfire: Grandpa Was Vegetarian When Vegetarian Wasn't Cool

[Droopy]

I generally don't have much of a problem with killing critters and eating them- particularly fish. I don't take pleasure in it, but I can do it. I understand some of you here are vegetarians and vegans and I'm sensitive to that and I respect you guys. So you won't find me posting here about the wonderful steak dinner I had or the 100 crappie I helped my step-dad clean for the fish fry. But I'm going to have to post about that kind of thing a little bit here to make this story work. Just letting you know in advance so you can ditch now if you want to. If you decide to stick around maybe I'll give you something to think about.

My grandpa and grandma on my dad's side were originally from Tennessee. They moved to Ohio when my dad was a baby to work in the factories here and hopefully escape poverty. And it worked. They owned a nice house here and put two of their four children through college. My dad and an uncle chose the military over college. When my grandparents retired they moved back down to Tennessee. Grandpa had inherited 150 acres down there. He built a house on it and a couple of small barns. He kept goats, cattle, chickens, and a sheep dog that rounded up the herd. He also had a farm pond put in and he stocked it with catfish. He told me how he much enjoyed feeding the fish. He'd throw the food out on the water and they would come to the surface and munch on the pellets. He talked to them while he was feeding them, too, and had the impression that they were waving at him when they turned around to go back down into the water while flipping their tails.

Grandpa loved animals and he very rarely ate meat. He would eat eggs and dairy products, but the only actual meat I ever saw him eat was chicken and that was very rarely. My grandma made the best fried chicken and I guess it could be hard for even a vegetarian to resist. Most of the time all grandpa had on his plate at dinner time was vegetables and bread. He didn't do that for his health. The guy chewed tobacco his whole life. And I don't think he had an aversion to the taste of meat. I think he just thought about all of the critters he had on his farm and how much he enjoyed them and couldn't see them being on a plate. I vaguely remember grandma telling me something along those lines one time.

My dad and I were down there visiting one time. Grandpa told me it was okay for me to fish in his pond. I told him I was just going to throw them back in. So I had brought a fishing pole with me- a medium light 6 footer with an open-faced reel strung up with 8 pound test line (for you anglers out there :)). I was fishing with a bobber and raw chicken livers. It didn't take long before they were all over that. The fish were about 16 inches and maybe in the 5 pound range. That makes for some fun fishing on light gear. And these were beautiful, clean, healthy, channel catfish. That's probably something you would only hear an angler or a vegan say. :) And, like I told my grandpa, it was all catch and release.

Well, here comes my dad. He sees these catfish I'm catching and doesn't see anything but catfish fillets for dinner. He doesn't understand why I'm throwing them back. I tried to tell him, but I couldn't get the point across. So he grabs his pole and a bucket and pretty soon he's hauling 5 catfish up the hill and he wants me to clean them. There wasn't anything I could do for the catfish at this point, but I wasn't going to let him get away with that without getting his hands in some fish gore.

He had never cleaned a fish in his life. I thought it was time that he learned. I told him that I would not clean the fish unless he helped me. It felt like our familial roles were reversed. I made it clear to my grandmother that this was not my idea. Grandpa was out running errands and I was hoping we could get the fish cleaned before he got back. So we're out on the front porch with a cutting board and some fillet knives and my dad is getting a lesson that he won't soon forget. I think he got nauseous at one point.

Then I see grandpa's old pick-up rolling up the driveway. We are in the middle of fish 3 and 4 and he was going to see what we thought of his fish. Grandpa walked onto the porch and saw what we were doing. His face got kind of long and he walked inside. I wanted to run my fillet knife through my dad's hand.

Grandpa didn't have any catfish at supper. He didn't have anything at all.