In my childhood, every Sunday my parents and I went to my grandparents’ house for dinner. During various hunting seasons, the main course was whatever my grandfather had caught that week: deer, rabbits or duck. He was always extremely proud of whatever he brought home, and as my cousins progressed in age, each of us would be invited to the hunting trips at his cabin in upstate New York. He saw it as mandatory for the boys, whereas the girls were expected to help my grandmother dress the meat for dinner.
You can imagine how my grandfather took it when I was in seventh grade and my parents revealed I wanted to make a lifestyle change — by no longer eating meat. I think he probably would’ve been less upset if they’d told him I got a tattoo.
I took an elective science course that taught about how animals are treated in the meat industry and how generally unhealthy the meat we’re eating is. But the class really showed me how animals in captivity are treated, and how they actually have the brain power to understand how they’re being treated. It was this realization, these animals feel the pain we’re putting them in, and it drives them to insanity before we kill them for consumption.
My teacher showed us how to tell when the animals in captivity had gone insane. We took a field trip to the zoo and watched as elephants swayed back and forth in their cages, cheetahs and jaguars ran in circles over and over and over. Monkeys banged toys against their heads, or hit the glass that separated them from us. This animal repetitive behavior is, the stage an animal experiences right before trying to self-harm or end its life, and every animal we saw in the zoo exhibited it.
When I first approached my parents about my decision, my mom immediately tried to talk me down.
“You’ll never get enough protein,” was her first response. Having grown up with hypoglycemia, a condition that means my body has low blood sugar to begin with, meaning I need to eat more protein than the average person does. My mom couldn’t see how I, someone who had a personal trainer in order to “bulk up” to compete with the girls on my soccer team, would be able to get enough nutrients without the chicken breasts I’d been eating for dinner every night to build muscle.
I relented, because one of my favorite food groups is seafood. After doing some research, we learned there was a name for the kind of diet I was thinking about adopting: pescetarianism. In my small upstate New York town, there were few vegetarians, and veganism was a weird, hippie, California thing.
My dad was afraid at first I just wanted to maintain a certain weight, but that wasn’t it at all. My hypoglycemia had put me in the hospital almost weekly as a child due to dehydration, but it had also blessed me with an extraordinary metabolism.
I showed my parents a documentary we had watched in class, and my mom was appalled at the way meat is processed in this country. She relayed to me she had never really thought about how animals were raised. She liked to think animals were always grass-fed on the farms she had seen on TV as a child, but that’s simply not the case. These animals were grown in dark warehouses in cages that were two sizes too small for them, and were injected with growth hormones to keep up with production.
I couldn’t stand the idea of an animal, with a brain, being raised simply so it could be killed for my consumption. Especially when there are so many alternatives to meat like veggie burgers or tofu chicken.
After showing both of my parents videos of the lifestyle these animals were being put through, both of them decided they’d join me on the journey of not eating meat. We tasked my mom, who had always been a daddy’s girl, to tell my grandfather we’d no longer be eating the deer and rabbits he loved bringing home.
He didn’t take it well. At first, he seemed to take the decision personally, which at the time infuriated me. Why would he think I only didn’t want to eat his catches? If anything, him thinking that made me want to eat what he brought home even less. But since I’ve gotten older, I understand he was just confused. He was so used to us eating what he brought home to Sunday dinner.
Leading up to every Thanksgiving, we have the same conversation. My mom will call me when I’m at school to complain that my grandparents don’t want to come to Thanksgiving dinner because “we don’t eat turkey.” Even though every year, my parents buy Tofurkey holiday turkeys made of tofu.
Although the idea of being vegetarian and even vegan is becoming more acceptable in the U.S. today because of the health benefits, I’d love for people to understand more about the benefits we’d be causing the animals that are literally being produced for us to consume.
As I’ve gotten older, I understand why people hunt. It’s the sense of pride, and supporting the family with a meal. Growing up, even though I was heavily exposed to it, I didn’t see it that way, especially after I got snubbed for not wanting the main course at Sunday dinner. But before he passed, I was able to have a conversation with my grandpa about why he loved hunting, and seeing his eyes light up and twinkle while he explained the passion to me helped me understand.
I know people like my grandfather enjoy the process of catching their own meal, and feeling like they’re genuinely providing for their family. But buying this meat at the grocery store that is over processed and raised terrible conditions is a bit different than killing for pride.