My dad was a Baptist preacher when I was a kid. Not full-time like big-city preachers, 'cause he had to make a living farming, but he was usually the one up there doing the preaching on Sunday. Because of this, we would travel sometimes to other churches where he'd preach and we'd stay with some family from that church.
One time, in the dead of winter, we stayed with some family in a shotgun house. I must have been real young, maybe 4 or 5. It was so cold where I slept that they put a half dozen quilts on top of me.
That morning, when I got up and went into breakfast, there was this big round plate with at least a dozen squirrel heads arranged in a circle. I learned that the idea was to pick up your cooked squirrel head, pop it real hard on the top to expose the brains, then scoop the brains out and eat 'em with your eggs.
After freezing my little ass off all night, this psycho-weirdness really had me wondering if I was ready for this world of adults.