why i was a vegetarian

    I’ve been an honest-to-God vegetarian a couple of times, the first when I was 5. While the more recent times have come about after documentaries and books, this first time is a little harder to explain.
    We’re in our second house in Florida, and there’s a raw chicken on the counter, perched with a beer can up its ass, waiting for the grill. I am horrified--chickens shouldn’t look like this. Pure terror when I connect the dots between this bumpy flesh and my McDonald’s chicken nuggets. I probably complain about this too much. I really do have this way of overdoing it sometimes.
    My mom picks up the chicken, makes it flap its wings. I don’t think she quite gets the reaction she wants. So she decides to chase me around the house with it, making chicken noises.
    (Looking back, trying to not make this sound like child abuse, she was probably just fed up, upset I was ruining the dinner she was putting a lot of work into. If we’re being honest, she may also have put down a few of the Miller Lights leftover from the whole chicken butt thing. Maybe she was trying to help, trying to desensitize me to my food (note to self: definitely explore this later). But that’s how I became a 5 year old vegetarian.)
    My grandfather lived close then, like only an hour away. He bought me Boca burgers, cooked them specially for me. Told me to surprise my dad by eating this “burger.” I think this trick is terrifically funny, can’t wait to try it. I don’t remember anything else about what I ate then, probably just lots of mac ‘n’ cheese.
    I am laying in my parents’ bed, watching cartoons.  My mom stands in the doorway, explains to me that chicken nuggets come from chickens that are already dead. I picture Ronald McDonald in his clown suit, wandering the desert, looking for decaying chickens. I picture McDonald’s workers, scooping flesh from the sides of dead cows lying in green pastures. This pacifies me, and I am again a meat eater.

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