The Story of Bacon

The world’s most important pig for the world’s most important little girl

I love pigs. But I don’t tell people this because then I’ll get pig stuff from people. I don’t want pig shit all over my apartment. I even tell people this in that exact wording: “I love pigs. But I don’t tell people that because then they’ll buy me pig shit”. I point it out specifically.

I love pigs, but not because they’re adorable.

I love them because it reminds me of my most favorite Mom story ever.

I was in my early 20s living in NYC. Christmas was my 1st holiday coming home to visit. I skipped coming home for Thanksgiving, which was a big deal for me. Thanksgiving was my Mom’s holiday. Our house. Our menu. Our family. My mom also had an open door if anyone was alone for the holiday or didn’t have anywhere to go, my Mom made sure that they were invited.

We had plenty of food and could always pull up another chair.

Working in retail, not only could I barely afford a plane ticket home to Chicago but I also had to work Black Friday, the SuperBowl of retail. Even if I could travel home, the trip would be short and I’d be broke. I stayed in NYC for Thanksgiving but traveled home for Christmas.

My parents did Christmas over the top. I’ve heard how other families go about gifts on Christmas - not bad or better, just so different. My mom made our Christmas’ over the top. It’s like meatloaf:

Picture how your mom made meatloaf. Or how your grandmother made it. Or your friend’s mom that served you meatloaf when you had a sleepover in grade school. Everyone prepares their meatloaf different. No meatloaf is bad! IT’S MEATLOAF! But everyone makes theirs different. The standard way most Midwestern people make meatloaf is with ketchup on top. Some people use gravy. My mom used bacon.

How I wish I had a photo of her meatloaf.

We used to fight over the strips of crispy but wiggly bacon on top. So my mom just started making larger loaf shapes… to accommodate more bacon! It’s hard to top BACON.

Christmas and meatloaf - my family just did it different (and over the top).

This particular Christmas was that year when I was in my 1st apartment ever (in NYC), and my Mom went overboard with the apartment-y gifts. Her favorite of those things to gift me that year was a Kitchenaid mixer. It was red, shiny and heavy.

I don’t bake. It was my least favorite gift.

I could see it made her so happy to get me this “necessary” kitchen item for my very 1st apartment! I bet she pictured me baking for my roommates or my coworkers at the jewelry store. I bet she pictured the shiny, red mixer displayed proudly on my kitchen counter. My Mom took pride in “choosing” a color she knew I already loved. And then decided that my kitchen would be red going forward. Other Christmas gifts included other red kitchen items.

I loved the red! YES! I couldn’t care less about that Kitchenaid mixer though. I hated baking. And how the hell am I going to carry all this crap back on the plane?!?

I’m the age where I remember a time BEFORE you were required to remove your shoes and belt at the airport. You could carry on literally as many bags as you wanted.

On my flight back to NYC after Christmas, I was lugging this big ass Kitchenaid mixer around killing time before my flight. I was carrying way too many things - my normal purse, a giant carryon shoulderbag, my stuffed animal pig (named Bacon) and this big ass Kitchenaid mixer box.

I popped by Potbelly then the Hudson News then a weird artsy shop selling Southern jewelry (so bizarre in the Chicago airport). I landed safely in NYC and texted my mom that I was home.

Her text response was: How’s Bacon liking his new home?

How I wish I had a photo of this text chain. The story of Bacon.

I had left my stuffed animal pig SOMEWHERE. He was GONE. He didn’t make it on the plane with me. I was empty. I felt numb. Like when your favorite music artist dies. What can you do? This is how it is now. It was that kind of empty feeling where you KNOW this is just how it is now. It’s done. He’s gone. THIS IS HOW THIS IS NOW. Your pig is gone.

Meanwhile my mom was asking all the questions: Where did you stop? The Bathroom? Starbucks? Potbelly? What gate were you at?

I knew he was gone. I had been everywhere in that airport. That fucking Kitchenaid mixer was so heavy that I set my things down everywhere I stopped! And I wouldn’t have stopped ANYWHERE if I got to the airport on MY timeframe instead of super early because my Mom said so! I felt numb and angry and tired.

Meanwhile, my mom would not sleep until she did everything she could to track down Bacon.

This pig, by the way is the size of a load of laundry - he’s big. I bought him for 90% off after Christmas because he was dressed in a holiday outfit. I cut those things off and thought he was just so… cute. I don’t know what drew me to him, besides the 90% off. My mom taught me to love deals. I loved this deal and he was cute. There was nothing else special about him.

My mom spoke with a crew member at Potbelly who walked over to each of the businesses around her to see if anyone found a stuffed animal pig. Was that woman so incredibly nice or was my mom begging her telling her it was her daughter’s most favorite irreplaceable stuffed animal? My Mom can lay it on pretty thick. I bet there were tears.

The woman found Bacon!

My parents drove down to the airport that night where my mom met that same woman from Potbelly at the gate. I’m the age where I remember a time BEFORE there were any restrictions on who was hanging out at the airport. As my Mom flagged the woman over (“It’s me! Hi! I’m the one with the pig!”), the woman’s face dropped. As she handed over the pig, she said “I was hoping to see your little girl’s face when I gave her back her piggy.”

The woman had no idea I was an adult living in New York City.

Nice one Mom.

That’s why I love pigs. It happened out of my love for a good deal…on a Christmas pig for 90% off. And I was really bummed when I “knew” I lost him. I wasn’t surprised my Mom called the airport several times to be connected to Potbelly. I wasn’t surprised she embellished the story just a little to get what she needed: to find that pig! That’s my Mom. She’s an overachiever. She made my dad drive all the way to the airport and ‘circle’ while she met the woman inside at the gate. Of course she did. And God/The Universe/call it what you want gave my mom the gift of THAT story.

THAT STORY IS HER LEGACY.

It’s not just that Bacon story. It’s a lot of my Mom’s stories.

It’s not just that I love pigs. It’s that every single time I see a pig I think of that story in its entirety. I always picture the same exact ending: I hear my Mom’s voice imitating the woman from Potbelly who genuinely thought this was the world’s most important pig for the world’s most important little girl.

The world’s most important pig for the world’s most important little girl.

So please don’t buy me pig shit.

But send me photos of ALL the pigs you see. Please. Because then I’ll hear my mom’s voice forever.

~Jen

BTW = The Kitchenaid mixer followed me to every single apartment - from NYC back to Chicago, solo places, roommate places, the Barber boyfriend, the Harley boyfriend and finally back home to my parents basement. After my mom died, I found that red Kitchenaid mixer still in it’s box in my parents basement. Never been used. I’ve been carrying that mixer with me from apartment to apartment, finding space for it, offering my roommate/BF to use it “feel free!”… my Mom was so excited to buy that “must have” thing for me. And I was so anti-using it. I don’t like baking. Why would I use that? I eventually this past year gifted it to my friend that likes baking. And she’s really good at it. And she likes red. And that friend named the mixer Karen. And THAT is my Mom’s legacy - her stories that just keeps on going. And a mixer named Karen.

It’s the same reason I don’t tell people outright that I was in a sorority in college. It wasn’t the best. I don’t want to advertise something I’m not particularly fond of.

But pigs? I love them.