I Eat Meat: Confessions of a Carnivore

by SCOTT GAWLICK
PVPHS class of '03 I eat meat.

I chew, I savor and when I’m done, I pick my teeth with a sliver of what used to be a tree. That’s me. Breakfast, lunch and dinner define me as an ogre, nothing less than an early Homo-Habalis ranging with the other hunter-gathers. Now we gather around electric fire and discuss how long we like our cow burned before we put it in our mouths. I like mine barely cooked. It better "moo" when I bite into it.

My whole life I have done this, not thinking about what my slab was before it was tenderloin. In the early days all that man and woman had to survive off of was in the field, amongst the others, unaware of their impending demise. Things have changed. We have  options. Many options. Everyone can choose, correctly. Those who are at one with their free-ranging friends can choose to eat plants instead, and as a "thank you" the same animals they save let them partake in their harmless by-products, i.e., milk and cheese. The plant-eaters may soon realize that the once "harmless benefits" of their friends were being procured using force and devices that would make even the most cold-hearted dominatrix’ hair stand up on end and never sit down. They form a coalition: veganism. They swear off all that comes from any animal, and watch in horror as I enjoy my milkshake, only retiring to their broccoli after hours of protest. It becomes a hobby.

They meet at soy coffee shops and think of trendy catch phrases for their T-shirts and bumper stickers: "Don’t have a cow man. We all know they’re correct and some of us are even recruited on principle. Unfortunately, I choose the latter. But why? Why do I let this happen? Can I, one person, really make a difference? Do I have a choice? No. In my family and in many others across America, we watch our news and roll our eyes at the extremes these "extremists" go to protect their friends. The media mock them; the neighborhood association mocks them; and worst of all I mock them. Why? They’re only doing what’s right, standing up for their beliefs in a nation where every palate has a right to do so. If Jim
throws paint on furs to show fur is wrong, he’s arrested, but if Tim and some of his fellow union buddies organize a strike that results in a riot, they are heroes. We live in a nation controlled by only a few right-wing industrialists who somehow control our every thought. If they eat meat, we eat meat. If they smoke then only limited efforts in our government are put on banning cigarettes. Sure cigarettes are killing our future, but they are paying for our present. So is meat killing our present to better our future?

I have no choice.

When I was born I was given a name, religion and chicken-flavored mush. Addicted at age two. I wasn’t given a list with a bunch of boxes to choose right and wrong. I didn’t have a menu and still don’t. Many families have enough economic problems without having to worry about driving to downtown Oregon to get fresh rye (Oregon, the state, does not have a downtown that I know of). My dad makes the bread which is traded for ox. I eat and smile. It would be too inconvenient to change now. Even our public schools, which children are sent to for reasons of religious freedom and open mindfulness, don’t offer a vegan alternative. We are forced into submission. I eat meat. I don’t believe in many of the things I do, but for now I’ll swallow the truth with a little A-1 sauce to garnish an enforced belief. Maybe someday I will be "at one" with my animal friends and stand up. But today I sit down to eat whatever is served. I just hope it’s Cajun.

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