COON

COON O COON! Down South, colored folks eat quite a bit of raccoon and possum too. Being born in the South, my family was typical of others, especially its older members. We kids had become more fastidious due to our Northern nurture out of the South. One Sunday, our family was invited to dinner, after church , at the home of Mr. Turner, an unmarried member. While he was heating up the pre-prepared meal, in the kitchen, its savory scent began to waft into the living room , where I was seated, my mouth watering. When we were finally called to the dining room table , all was elegantly laid out and nattily appointed , napkins, cutlery, and various steaming dishes: greens, sweet potatoes, salad, cornbread, and the covered entree , the piece de la resistance, which, I took for beef. After grace, we lit into the offering, at least, I did, with a hearty gusto becoming a youth approaching puberty. All was good, very good, even delicious, and I told Brother Turner, our able host so. I was especially complimentary of him on the tenderness of that beef, and its fine taste. I noticed daddy and mama smiling at each other, discretely. Then, our host said that the entree was not beef, but coon, as he thanked me! Coon? Coon! You mean I've been busily eating and enjoying coon? That did it! I politely completed the remainder of my plate and departed the table. Sometimes, it is better not to know!