When my daughter, Brooxie, was 5 years old, she’d stay with my husband’s parents while we were at work. One day Brooxie was helping Papaw gather eggs.
While putting the eggs into the basket she was carrying, she asked, “Papaw, where do these eggs come from?” Papaw then explained in detail the delicate process of making an egg.
Brooxie put her hands on her hips and exclaimed, “Papaw, I don’t eat anything that comes out of a chicken!” And for many years, she didn’t.
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