In the early ’80s, I followed three generations of family tradition and joined the Army. Now, soldiers going through Army basic training, because of the rigorous physical demands (at least, at that time), will eat anything holding still and some things that aren’t moving too quickly. We even ate C-rations.
But one day, my company marched to the mess hall for supper after a long day. This mess hall, every day, posted a sign by the door stating what was being served that day. We were dismissed to go line up, and one of the first guys to reach the door read what was being served: “Mutton chops.”
About ten of us left the line and returned to the parking lot. Someone called out, “What are you guys doing?”
“My Dad raises cattle,” one of the guys snapped. We all nodded. That was all that needed to be said, at least for those of us whose fathers, like mine, were cattlemen.
There is a…
