Or, at least, I did.
I was raised in a staunchly carniverous family. During my childhood and adolescent years, anything green equaled gross. Our idea of a vegetable growing up was a french fry.
Seriously.
I am convinced the only reason my sibling and I didn't balloon out into massive creatures the size of the state of Texas is because we were blessed with unnaturally high metabolisms (at least in our early years).
Being something of a sensitive soul, I will admit I was quietly concered about this growing up. After watching countless Disney flicks with singing and talking animals, I felt more than a little sqeamish about eating them. This squeamishness was not eased by the presence of my much beloved - though slightly off-kilter - redneck uncle whose idea of a good time was sneaking chopped venison (that he had hunted and gutted himself, btw) into the spaghetti, watching me munch on it unknowingly, and then announcing "Surprise! You just ate Bambi's mother!"
Yes, I was traumatized, and all more hesitant to feast on furries.
Yet two niggling issues remained and roped me into continuing my carniverous capers:
1) Denial. Like an ostrich sticking its head in the sand, I fooled myself into thinking that if I didn't see the animals that were suffering during the slaughtering process, then the suffering wasn't really happening. Which is almost a statement on our society, really. We are rather removed from our food sources, these days. When we reach for a chicken sandwich or a steak at a restaurant, all we have to fork over is our visa card. We don't have to be there to raise those creatures, see them as living entities, and or watch the life ebb out of them under a slaughter knife.
We just get a pretty plate with presentation.
But that's an issue for another time...
Obstacle #2 was this: I didn't LIKE vegetables. Like many folks, it wasn't that I was opposed to the idea of a vegetarian diet - I just knew I wouldn't be able to live on one. I mean, the extent of my vegetable intake all the way up into my college years was a random salad or - like a true Irish woman - a potato with dinner. How the heck would I survive? What would I EAT?
Flash forward to me: post college. I was crusing facebook an stumbled onto a link on my friend's facebook page. Knowing she was vegan-ish and a little "out there" after her adventures in India, I clicked on the link - a video clip by Mercy for Animals, detailing what actually goes on during the harvesting processes in many slaughter houses (in this case, kosher slaugherhouses) - bracing myself for the worst.
This is what I saw.
I cannot remember the last time I cried so hard. My stomach hurt for a good two hours and I was sure that I was going to be sick.
Unable to help myself, I spent the rest of the night clicking link after link, video after video, until I had exhausted myself. And I quickly came to a realization.
Issue #1 and #2: no longer issues.
I couldn't do it. I just couldn't do it anymore. The excuses, the niggling protestations: they just weren't enough. At that moment, I vowed that I would quit eating meat and would start liking vegetables.
Somehow.
So this is the story of me and my attempt to be just a little bit kinder. My attempt to find all sorts of yummy, vegetarian recipies for those who - like me - think that becoming a vegetarian is an impossible task.
But mostly, it's about giving life - and something new - a chance. Peas or otherwise. :)
