Rack of Ribs

So me and the Little One are at the grocery store, doing some last minute shopping. We’re at the meat counter and I’m examing some one-pound lean chop meat packages for Taco Night when my daughter hauls a big rack of ribs up over her head to show me.

“Daddy, is this a rib?”

“It’s called a rack of ribs. It’s a whole side of ribs.” I select some 93-percent ground meat and head off to another aisle, expecting her to follow me.

She drops the ribs, asking, “Do people eat this?”

“Sure.”

“Is this an animal?”

Uh-oh. She’s just recently learned – or at least realized – that humans eat animals. That chicken she held at the petting zoo last week could be related to the rotisserie chicken we ate as a family last night. Hamburgers come from cows. Her beloved turkey and cheese sandwiches contains meat from, well, Tom the Turkey.

“Yes, sweetie. We eat animals, but only very old animals who have lived long lives.” My standard white lie for her sensitive psyche.

No more questions as we pick up a few more items: some soda (gotta have soda with tacos), milk and cereal for tomorrow morning, a trio of tissue boxes as we’re all still a bit under the weather. Finally, heading to the check-out, Little One blurts out:

“I know what that animals was!” She’s still focused on the rack of ribs.

“What, honey?” And I’m still distracted, trying to remember what items I’ve forgotten.

“A lion!”

For a second nothing registers, then I come out of my reverie. I give her a reassuring hug. “No, my dear. We don’t eat lions. The word you saw on that package of ribs was LOIN. L – O – I – N. Lion is spelled L – I – O – N. Loin is another word for meat.”

“Oh!” she gushes, a little embarrassed. “Sometimes I get me OIs and my IOs confused.”

I tussle her hair and we get on line to pay for the food, both of us chuckling.