Which Reminds Me

One day when I was 12 living in Modesto, Calif., when my grandmother came home from the grocery store, her purchases included a bag of chips. The wording on the package said "Pork Rinds" but strangely they just tasted like sort of like potato chips to me. I offered the bag to my cousin David who took one and ate it, then looked at the bag to see what this new flavor of chip was. Upon reading the words "Pork Rinds" David went into an apoplectic fit, accusing me of tricking him or trying to poison him. Don't I know what "pork rinds" means? Oh, yes, I suppose that could actually mean pig skins, literally. What a strange wording to put on a package. Could that be true? But why would anyone, even my own grandmother bring home pork rinds from the grocery store? And why is David so severe in his accusations against me? It is not like we were ever Jewish. Didn't we all enjoy the way grandmother perfectly slow-cooked the ham for holiday dinner? So let's just temper Cousin David's emotional overkill with a dose of reality.