While others may enjoy this typical religious day called Easter with a large gathering of family to share an Easter Ham, I prefer the original tribal fare of my own culture. We celebrate Wester, with the eating of ribs. Barbequed ribs, with plenty of sauce, which represents the blood and toil of our forebears.

Strangely, the animal of choice is the same in both cultures. However, Wester celebrants acknowledge more forthrightly those who came before them and are closer to their roots. Others may break bread in long suffering self-delusional efforts to “make peace.” We who celebrate Wester know that if you are to make peace, often you have to break a few bones along the way.

Thus, the ritual of eating ribs recognizes this sacrifice, that many of our ancestors and their opponents had to endure. We break bones with each bite of ribs we consume, until, like those who preceded us, there is nothing left. Nothing but the sated appetites of those who stand here today, in the present; not some afterlife which reflects nothing of the sacrifices we have made while we were here, “on earth, as it isn’t in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

Incidentally, Wester is the recognition that the sun goes down each day. And when it does, we rise.