A Turkey's Funeral

It's no secret to anyone who knows me that I think my son, Ben, is an amazing kid. He handles himself with grace in even difficult situations, and is thoughtful, courteous, and so fun. He dotes on his mother, which helps boost my opinion of him, too. But he's also really deep. He listens, he thinks, he analyzes.

Last year, on a hunting trip with Chris, he shot a turkey. It was his first kill. As a mother, it actually pains me to write that he had a "kill", but this is the reality of a hunter's life; and in our house, if you kill it, you eat it. Otherwise, why hunt? So we prepped the turkey and cooked it. It was magnificent, and Ben was proud.

So I thought. It turns out, Ben had been thinking about this turkey for months, and was unsure how he  felt about killing another living being. In school this fall, he was asked to write about a memorable event, so "A Turkey's Funeral" was born.

The turkey collapses, it gives one more shudder, one more flutter of the wings, and dies. The woods are silent, noiseless, and still. Not even the wind dares take a breath, as if the Forest is holding its breath, for it mourns of what had happened. A stray breeze blows, alone and out of place. 

Then my dad and I stepped forward to claim our prize. The forest, releasing it's pent up breath, continues normally. 

His words remind me of what an exceptional child he is -- his words are beautiful and the sentiment is touching. I am thankful to have him in my life.

Happy Thanksgiving, all!