July 13, 2001 - Beach Bum

LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth

Weekend Beach Bum

So, dear readers of Letters, for the sake of my sanity, this week I must stray from the Yellow Brick Road. However, I am going to publicly demolish another personal closet door. This week, I am writing about a subject dear to both my heart and my stomachvegetarianism.

I converted to the wonderful world of vegetarianism during my first year of college. I came out as vegetarian a few months before I came out as gay. (Not long after announcing my homosexuality, I told my family I would no longer adhere to any organized religion, either. Looking back, it's a wonder my mother didn't suffer heart failure during my freshman year of college.)

Ellen, a fellow dorm dweller, and someone with enough energy for a small army, became a dear friend. She had been vegetarian since high school. I shared with Ellen my closeted vegetarian longings. What will my family and friends think? Will they reject me? Will society ostracize me? Will I ever be able to eat in a restaurant again?

Ellen calmed my fears, informing me that many people are vegetarian and don't talk about it. "We all know someone vegetarian," Ellen assured me. "About ten percent of the population is vegetarian, and there are places for us to congregate and socialize, so we don't feel alone. Some of my best friends are vegetarians." (OK, so my veggie conversion wasn't quite so dramatic. Cut me a break! I'm suffering from rainbow withdrawal, here. Interestingly enough, Ellen bravely accompanied me to my first gay student meeting. Thanks, Ellen.)

I don't like to ascend a vegetarian soapbox. In fact, I don't talk about my vegetarianism unless someone asks me about it. I could not care less if you order a steak at dinner. Vegetarian Eric is not like a holier-than-thou ex-smoker who verbalizes the deleterious effects of a cigarette every time you light up. I chose vegetarianism for personal, not political reasons.

As a rule, I do not feel discriminated against or disgusted by carnivores. I have satisfactory food choices in most quality restaurants, and the options become more varied and tasty every year. I won't stare at your cow-on-a-plate while you dig into formerly mobile flesh with a sharp knife. With my tendency to ramble in conversation, I have enough trouble keeping track of the food on my own plate during dinner, without making comments about yours.

I grew up in hunting-happy southern Delaware. My parents' taste in home dcor differs markedly from mine. The paneled walls of my parents' home boast mounted deer antlers, pictures of my smiling father with unsmiling deer, and a gun rack composed of upturned deer hooves. Mention the term "big buck" to my father and me, and both our faces will light up, but for very different reasons. I even went hunting with my brother once. But he wanted to sit in a tree stand and look for animals to shoot, and I wanted to sit by a babbling brook and peruse "Walden."

Many Sunday mornings, I watched my mother cut, pack, label, and freeze various meatsdeer, pheasant, quail, turkeyjust about every animal Noah took aboard the ark. Although my mother never hunted, and didn't enjoy playing butcher, one of her favorite summer pastimes was buying a bushel of steamed crabs, taking them and me to my grandmother's, cracking the shells, and devouring the flesh. Although I pretended to enjoy those days, in retrospect, I don't know who was more petrifiedme or the crabs.

The older I got, the more I considered where the meat came from. I thought about the various animals, once frolicking in pastures, pens, and ponds with their friends. The horror of it alla boisterous bunch of bovines, enjoying a perfectly good happy hour at the trough, basking in the warmth and nourishment of a sunny summer day. Then, suddenly, they're corralled, slaughtered, and slung on a shelf at the A & P. The whole picture makes a filet mignon a bit less romantic and appealing, doesn't it?

Most people see animals and meat as two different entities. They're not. The chicken leg you're chewing on was once running and jumping of its own accord. I suppose the hypocrisy is largely cultural. We're trained to see cats, dogs, and parakeets as cute, cuddly companions. Mention to a meat-eater that in some foreign land, the people consider doggie dumplings or kitty crepes a dainty delicacy, and the response is repulsive, exasperated condemnation. I fail to see the difference.

I suppose carnivorous tendencies just don't gel with my personality. First, meat-eating is illogical. Consider that every few seconds in this world, several people starve to death. Then consider that, with the resources it takes to feed one person with meat, we could feed one hundred persons with grain and vegetables, with more nutritional value. Consider the many health hazards of meat-eating, none of which I need to mention. Consider that babies cannot digest meat naturally, and that their stomachs must learn to produce the necessary enzymes.

Second, in my mind, meat-eating is cruel. Maybe it's the Native American blood in me, but I try to lead a life that causes as little suffering as possible. No meatfrom steak to seafood is required in a healthy, balanced diet. Couple with this fact the deplorable "living" conditions of the animals we raise for food, and I cannot fathom eating meat again. I realize my own hypocrisy in continuing to eat eggs and dairy products, but I'm venturing toward vegan status.

Being veggie is not always easy. It's frustrating when you have two items to debate on a restaurant menu. It's tough as leather finding belts and shoes that aren't. And it's sometimes challenging to eat healthily as a vegetarian. Many vegetarians don't read and research, and don't eat well. But I feel good about myself after a meal, knowing that I didn't harm myself or any other creature, and I don't feel large and lethargic, even after Thanksgiving dinner.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to climb down from my vegetarian soapbox and enjoy a soothing soy and fruit shake.

Eric lives in Claymont, and works and visits in Rehoboth Beach on the weekends. His refrigerator is always filled with lots of yummy veggie food. He can be reached at StarchildB612@gateway.net

LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 11, No. 9, July 13, 2001.