"Where's the Meat?"

There are things and days that I do not understand; among these is my brothers’ hysterics over meat. I don’t eat it, I don’t like the smell of it, and I have no desire to cook it. This is not new. I was fixing pasta for dinner. The water was getting close to a boil and I was in the process of slicing mushrooms. ‘Where’s the meat?” my brother demanded as he barged into the kitchen. “You need to fix chicken to go with that.” It was not a request, it was a demand. I was not about to be bullied into anything, especially cutting up and cooking chicken (or hamburger as the other one wanted). He freaked out. By freak out I mean major freaking. The fights are still there and sometimes I fear they always will be. As he yelled and screamed, ranted and raved he finally got the chicken out and fixed it himself. Our large kitchen suddenly felt way too small as I tried to keep breadsticks from burning, water from boiling over, and sauce from scorching. The entire time he raved about how horrible it was that I am a vegetarian and how I had done it just to be different. When I first quit eating meat (even back to when I was contemplating it and trying to make a decision) it was such a frightening endeavor to undertake, especially alone and without my family’s support. The stereotype is often of the militant vegetarian picking fights and arguments with meat-eating family, friends, and strangers. I try to avoid the fights and arguments. Yet, somehow I take attacks especially from my siblings while being accused of “attacking” them. (All going back to an afternoon a couple years back when I asked my one brother is he really needed a steak for an after-school snack.) I don’t; attack others for their lifestyle and I don’t want to be attacked for mine. My lifestyle is not hurting anyone, not even myself.

It doesn’t really matter why I became a vegetarian. It’s my life and my body. I wanted to be better and for me this worked. I shouldn’t have to explain myself. I’m open to reasonable discussions and honest curiosity, but not hysterical rants about the evils of vegetables and my supposed responsibility to serve them meat. Sometimes it would be nice to have a real ally; someone who actually understood. I never expected it to be completely easy, but I had hoped that after this long the attacks from family would have ceased. I may not like it, but I have never once attacked them or yelled at them for their continuing to hunt. (It helps that their aim is so bad they can barely hit the broad side of a barn.) I wonder sometimes how important it would be to marry a vegetarian like me, then things like this happen again and I almost don’t want to risk the idea of a long-term relationship with a meat-eater.

Let me leave with a quote that just seems fitting.

From Scott Adams (The writer of Dilbert): “You think I’m one of those wise-ass California vegetarians who is going to tell that eating a few strips of bacon is bad for your health. I’m not. I say it’s a free country and you should be able to kill yourself at any rate you choose, as long as your cold dead body is not blocking my driveway.”