Why We Need to Rethink How We Interact with Others

Let me start out by saying that I am okay.

Or, at least I am physically. Now, emotionally, well, that might take a minute while I restore my faith in humanity. 

You see, it all started out with the best intentions. My husband took our boys hunting a couple weeks ago while I stayed home, cleaned the house with the music turned up to all the decibels, hung out with friends, watched football, and, oh wait, this story is not about that weekend. Well, not entirely.

After a very quick and successful trip, my boys brought home what was left of two deer they had harvested. The meat had already been sent to the processor, so just the heads remained, which found their home in our garage freezer. And before any of you say “ewwww, gross,” just remember that you didn’t have to look at those heads whenever you decided it was a good night for orange chicken. 

For those of you who may not have grown up around hunting, it might be worth explaining that, until you decide what kind of trophy (aka souvenir, memento) you want, keeping the head frozen is important so that it doesn’t, well, stink and decay. 

Anywho, the heads were awaiting transport to the taxidermist, but when the call came in that our meat was ready and about to be delivered, that freezer space needed to be cleared. Stat. As my husband had a busy work schedule, I volunteered to take the deer heads in. My husband sent me the address of the 5-star-rated taxidermist, gave me a link to the google listing with a map, including the office hours and a phone number. 

With him at the office, it was up to me to finagle the antlers out of the slats in the freezer shelf and tetris them into the waiting ice chest. This, in and of itself, was not an easy feat. I legit got about three minutes of exercise credit on my Apple Watch as I struggled and strained and, okay, I might have let out a frustrated roar at one point.

But, I got the ice chest packed and into the car and set out toward the taxidermist, about a 25-minute drive away. I turned on a podcast, cruised down the highway, and felt pretty good about being able to clear this task off our list.

And then I arrived. Well, I thought I did. I went to the address listed under the business, but found myself at a residential home. Now, in California, plenty of people work out of their home (I believe there was a daycare right next door), so I didn’t give it too much thought once I confirmed the address matched what was listed. 

Wanting to be certain I was in the right place, though, I left the ice chest in the car and wandered over to the door where I rang the doorbell. Now, let me also say that there were two vehicles in the driveway, one a pickup truck, plus a boat covered with a camouflage tarp. This being the home/workplace of a taxidermist made all the sense in the world to me.

After ringing the doorbell, I waited. No answer. So I rang it again. No answer.

I pulled up the phone number and called. It went straight to voicemail. I left a message, then rang the doorbell again. Nothing. I texted my husband and let him know I was getting no response, but he was at work, so what could he really do? I wandered around the front sides of the house to see if I missed a business entrance. Nope. Nothing. 

In a last ditch effort, I rang the doorbell again. This time, I was startled by a man’s voice coming from the window next to where I was standing. “What do you want? Who are you?” he barked.

“Um, I’m here for a taxidermist,” I stuttered.

“I’m not a taxidermist. I’m trying to sleep and you woke me up by ringing my doorbell,” he yelled.

“Oh, can you tell me if this is [insert address here]?” I asked, confused. I had this concern that maybe I came to a street name that was similar (Rd. instead of Dr.), and therefore was at the wrong place.

“You need to leave,” he said, disregarding my plea for help. “I have the right to the First Amendment.” 

“Could you just tell me if this is {insert address}?” I again pleaded.

“First amendment and you better leave before I call the police!” he screamed. 

My fear of him getting the first and second amendment confused sent me scampering to my vehicle where I called my husband and turned into a puddle of tears.

On the way home, in disbelief of what happened, I replayed how differently this could have gone. First, I feel terrible that I apparently woke this man up. But, if he had just taken a second to help me, this could have been cleared up much faster and with much less distress—for both of us. In fact, with a little compassion, we could have determined that there was an error online and he could go through the measures to clear it up.

Instead, nothing was gained, and it’s likely both of our days were a little sour going forward. I know mine was.

Why do we tend to default to hatred? Why do we make the choice to hurt and not help? Why can we not be bothered when someone is in need of a little understanding? I get it, no one is perfect, and I have no idea what this man was going through, but how can we change the narrative so showing kindness and patience is the default?

It makes me reflect on a shirt that my husband’s Godfather gave me. A black shirt with white print, it simply says these words:

humankind

(Be both)

Imagine if we all followed that simple principle a little more often. Imagine if we all took a moment to listen and understand and do our best to help, or at least show we care.

I debated with myself about whether or not to share this with y’all. After all, hunting, frozen deer heads, taxidermy. I get that that’s a bit out of some people’s comfort zones. But, I promised you I would be authentic, so here I am, sharing with you my truth. And my musings. And this, y’all, was quite a significant one from this week.

Perhaps I’ll find some solace on my porch swing.

Oh, and one more thing. By posting this, I’m not looking for sentiments of care or concern. Like I said, I’m okay. I’m just hoping that, by reading this, we might start to tilt that narrative in the right direction. Will you help me?