And I believed him, even when my stomach twisted itself into a tiny little walnut of hunger later that day. I believed him, even as we ate oatmeal at every meal for the next week, until the plows finally came through and the roads were passable again. Nor did I stop to consider the hypocrisy when my father went into his office after dinner and turned on his TV, tuned it to the news, and began to write. Because in my heart I understood that my father was always right, and my complaints were a sign of my privileged position within a flawed modern society. That if we killed one deer, we might as
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