GRANDMA NUGGETS: OUT OF THE MOUTH OF BABES FROM 4 TO 79

Mom and I had a date with 4YO Brady. On the way to the apple orchard we stopped at a little place renowned for its fried chicken. Brady, a chicken nugget aficionado, was hungry, and here's the conversation that ensued:

"I got you a chicken leg."

 "A chicken LEG? This is a LEG?"

Realizing that I may have entered sensitive territory, I resort to subterfuge. "It's called a chicken leg because it looks like a leg and it tastes like chicken."
 

Satisfied, Brady indulges, releasing a flurry of comments about this delicious new food that tastes like his beloved nuggets.  "This chicken is really good, Grandma, 'cept I found something in it."

 "What?"

 "I think it's a bone. It gots a bone inside it!"

 "It's like a handle, Brady. So you can hold it easier."

 "Oh. That's cool. Do you eat the bone?"

 

 "No. Do Not Eat the Bone."

 A moment later he cries out, "Ow!"

 "What's the matter, Brady? Did you bite your finger?"

 "Two fingers."

 "Oh, dear. Sorry, Buddy."

 "Where do you get chicken legs?"

Now my mom, who has been a farmer, has dementia, and has not picked up on my efforts to avoid being the cruel fiend who first exposes Brady to the reality of a carnivore's food chain.

 "Farmers raise them on farms. That's where we get all our meat."

 "Chicken is MEAT?" asks Brady.

 "One kind of meat. There's beef from steers, mutton from sheep, chicken and pork."

 "What kind of meat is a fork?"

Mom jumps back in. "Not a fork, Brady. Pork. Pork. P-P-P Pork with a 'P'. A fork is something you use to eat your meat. It's not the meat."

 "Ohhh. Well, what do I do with my bone? My hands are greasy. Never mind. I just stuck it on your seat."

Yeah, next time we're going with the Happy Meal.