Friday, September 26, 2014

Mr. Fisher

When I was in junior high, I tried my hand at hatching out chicks and raising them for meat. The time came for slaughter, but I couldn't do it. So I asked a local farmer and family friend, Mr. Fisher to help. He did and I was free of the burden. Sometime later, Bobby Blackwell and I started raising rabbits. When the time came for butcher of the kits we raised from birth, we started with Bobby's. Killed one, a story in its own right that ended with Bobby and I in tears. So I gave as many of mine away as I could and called Mr. Fisher to help me out again, which he did. Several rabbits were dispatched.

Oddly enough, I always called him Mr. Fisher--never by his first name. I've thought of him numerous times in life. There have been times through the years when I had a problem with someone and I wondered: Is it appropriate to call Mr. Fisher....