I've probably told this story before but it bears repeating.
In a time long ago in a land not that far away, I was a young newlywed Father-to-be with a full head of hair. It was the first Christmas with the new In-Laws and we had family Christmas dinner at MeMaw and PawPaw's.
Fish out of water.
I did my best to suppress the full blown panic attack simmering just below the surface and be the charming (yet shy) new addition to the family. Things are going pretty smooth and the meal is fantastic. Nobody cooks like a MeMaw... nobody!
I'm digging thru my second savory helping of turkey, ham, yams and dressing when PawPaw suddenly decides now's the perfect time to make a public announcement that he's giving me his prized gamecock as a Christmas gift.
Honestly, up to this point in time I had never exhibited any interest, or slightest desire to participate in bloodsports. To be quite honest the whole idea struck me as backwoods, barbaric and inhumane. This was LONG before Michael Vick. How could I tell PawPaw my true feelings at his Christmas dinner table in front of the whole clan!
I did my best "Oh it's too much" and "I don't know what I'm doing" routine, but he would hear nothing of it. PawPaw was bound and determined to make me a champion cockfighter! I finally had to drop the charade and tell him (and the entire family) my honest opinion of cockfighting and cockfighters.
Oddly, we didn't hang around for dessert. But the blackberry cobbler and pecan pie sure looked good.