Michele And The Pigs

My daughter, Michele, is nothing like either her father or her mother. She is a smart, attractive, sensitive young woman who is marrying Michael, her equal, this October. I could not be happier for either of them. A couple of Michele stories:

1) While not a vegetarian, somewhere along the way, Michele decided that she did not want to eat red meat. I thought that she never ate any meat, but I discovered that she will occasionally taste a piece of steak if Michael orders it when they go out. And even then he has to sell her on "how great it is, blah, blah, blah, etc". Michele had to present a poster at a Psychology meeting in D.C. recently and while there she went to visit my sister, Mara. Mara told her early on that they were having steak for dinner and Michele, rather than seem the ungracious guest, silently sat and ate her meal without ever saying a word.

2) I am not overly loud while in public, but no one would ever describe me as a shrinking violet either. Michele was always the smallest in her class and usually the youngest. She always had a fear of being noticed. I cannot remember why, but I can remember many times I would be doing something like talking loudly or arguing with someone, and Michele pulling on my arm saying, "Daddy, stop, they are looking at me"

3) Being a gentle soul the idea of any sort of violence has always been abhorrent to her. The idea that animals are killed in order that they can eventually be cooked, or eaten is something that she cannot deal with. A couple of years ago, on one of her infrequent visits to the DR, we were driving somewhere and we came across a truck loaded with pigs. Michele pointed to the truck and made a comment about how sad it made her to see them. I told her that there was nothing to be sad about. I told that they were the property of a kindly farmer who every so often took them out for a ride to see the countryside. That made her feel much better. I told this story to Rafael, the owner of the factory where we make our bras and he thought that this was hysterical. One day while riding with Rafael we came across a truck similarly loaded only this time there were two levels. Rafael, remembering the story, told me that the pigs on the upper level were paying extra to ride first class. Today, while driving to the factory, I got a chance to take the above picture of the two class touring pig truck.