I have a hat. It’s a Mad Bomber hat lined with bunny fur. It’s warm and comfy and I wear it a lot.
The bicycle took me, and my hat, to school yesterday to pick up the big one. When we got home she started asking about the hat. She has seen the hat many times before, has probably tried it on, and I know she’s tossed it around the living room a few times, so I’m not sure why she picked yesterday to ask the question.
“Daddy, what kind of fur is that?”
“Does it come from rabbits?”
I know where this is going. I’m not ready to explain it to a 5 year old. “Yes, rabbits.”
She screws her face up real tight. “Does the rabbit have to die so you can have a hat?”
My heart sank. “Yes, honey, it does.”
“And they peel the skin off?”
I saw the concern on her ever-tightening face. Visions of PETA danced in my head. “Yes.” I stared at the future vegan.
Silence. The awkward kind one has on a blind date, never knowing what to say. Then her face relaxed a bit. Her eyes showed a revelation taking place and the sad concern suddenly vanished.
“Cool.” And off she went to play while I made lunch.