Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Old comic about fish while you wait...

I feel terrible about making folks wait so long for a new comic, but the next death story is completely freakin' awesome and I have been taking my sweet time.  

So in the interim I offer you an older comic from years ago about my first fishing trip with my Moma.  I love writing about my Mom because her life is full of adventure and fun (and work).  I always worry about depicting her in two dimensions since she is a complicated lady, but I love her a whole bunch and I hope that my clumsy efforts will be sufficient.

I am a big freaking baby when it comes to killing animals (bugs included) for any reason, even to alleviate suffering.  Just yesterday I saw a very small animal in on the highway and it was clearly beyond saving.  I had time to aim for it with the car but I couldn't  make myself swerve.  My Mom would've done something more helpful.  

Which is why she has five rescued dogs, and I have one cat...which she rescued for me.


C. Franklin said...

Painful childhood memories are the best, ain't they?

So, what exactly befell the fishy? I take it that it was consumed none the less...

This reminds me of when I shot a bird when I was about 11. It was this boyhood -gotta kill something to prove to myself I can do it- thing... It (my victim) had to be something with cognitive complexity beyond that of a roach (I realize this now with the benefit of enlightened hindsight)... a bird would do. so I shot one. and instantly burst into tears. weird. death was slow, excruciating, and pathetic. …not instant, painless, and perhaps slightly unfortunate as I naively assumed. No thanks to "Die-Hard," etc. Not what I expected, but about time I learned that it was not an appropriate way to get one’s kicks.

And just like you haven't been fishing since your incident with the rock, nor have I blasted a bird since... hey, it's a hobby for some people.

Not to say I wouldn't, but the curiosity which prompted this slaying has been long since satisfied and I'd have to be hungry to do it again.

Failure? nah. cowardice? I don't think so... unless you're drawing from an old-school do-or-die hunter/gatherer set of values, which wouldn't exactly be fair would it? I mean, if those are the criteria by which our hind-brains inspire judgment, they need not forget that in our upbringing we did not regularly see the faces of our recently slaughtered meal. If you (in this case) had, you surely would have acted differently in your situation with the fish.

Had someone in your position, someone with your upbringing, behaved in a more callous, unflinching way, that may have been cause for concern. Your conduct was appropriate. Hi-five.

holt said...

Aww...thanks Chris.  Hi-five gratefully accepted.  The fishy was in fact eaten but not by me.  It was PB&J all the way 'till we made it home.

Of course I immediately asked Mom to make fish sticks with Mac&Cheese.  So...you see how I learn nothing.

Your bird story was touching. Retroactively (in my mind) it makes your special training in the army an even more complex and considered choice.

By the way, earlier today I drew a picture of you eating a bloody heart.

What?  I have my reasons!

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