A Meaty Ephiphany
Poke. Poke. Poke. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was facing, one of the more traumatic moments of my life. It was biology dissection, sophomore year of high school and I was the girl with the perfume bottle, only opening my eyes enough to see what I must to get a passing grade. As much of an animal lover as I've always been, at the moment, the majority of my emotions were pure disgust at seeing the insides of anything formerly living thing. I'd always been easily grossed out to the point I developed "mental allergies" to certain foods that had once either been alive or had been produced by something alive. I will be eternally grateful that fate gave me Sarah as a lab partner, the only one at my table of four girls who was excited to dissect!
Poke. Poke. Poke. As Sarah was prodding the muscle of the exposed frog leg, I didn't realize that things were about to get worse. Suddenly, the ominous voice of my teacher pierced through the darkness of ignorance I was was enjoying through closed eyelids. It was in that moment he spoke the words that brought about a life-changing realization.
"Wow, look at the meat on that thing!!"
At that moment, I felt it was no coincidence that he had a mustache that so closely resembled Hitlers, as all of a sudden, pieces of understanding began to come together like a puzzle, a horrific realization. It was a hysterical stream of thoughts that ran through my mind:
"The meat on that thing???? Meat???? I'm looking at a frog leg - OH NO!!!!! Thats a frog leg and people say that frog legs taste like chicken. Chicken is meat. They also say 'you gotta get some meat on those bones.' No. NO. NOOO!!!! Meat is muscle????!!!!!!!!!!!!!
How it took me a decade and a half of my life to realize that, I do not know. Maybe my mind was trying to protect what my teacher, who I thought was suppose to be my advocate, had just imposed upon me. Growing up, there were many evenings that I was the last one sitting at the dinner table until I finished my meat. I'd wait until my Mom went to put the dirty dishrags, which I now understood were actually more like a tool for the aftermath of a meaty crime scene clean-up, in the laundry room and in a panic, try to feed my meat to my dog, a willing and happy accomplice, before my parents came back. Or there was the time when I was little and driving on a family trip when we saw a field of cows and my Mom said "look at all that hamburger!" I cried out "hamburger? You mean you kill the cows?," but I guess I didn't comprehend the horrific reality of the situation. Now it all made sense, why I'd always avoided meat like other children avoided vegatables. It didn't seem natural to me to eat muscle!
On the outside, I think I remained as collected looking as I could during this moment of terror, though I was about ready to burst into tears. I knew in my heart I'd discovered something horrible, I didn't have the courage to ask anyone if it was true, or the ability to use my voice at that moment! I walked around shell shocked all day until I made it home and promptly burst into tears like a girl who'd just been dumped by her first boyfriend.
Sixteen years have passed since this awful moment. That is over 5,840 days since I've been "clean" or as some people say, a vegetarian. That terrible day took away my trust of food and I became increasingly suspicious of every food that crossed my path. Over time, I have had several other food epiphanies, enough to turn me into an accidental vegan. I know I learned a lot in high school, but the one thing I can remember is the lesson that all foods are guilty and suspicious unless proven innocent!!
