Young Flesh

Sisters

             I doubt I’ll ever forget this particular coupling: young flesh.  My mother brought me to my grandma’s apartment in Queens.  The following day, we were going to visit the Intrepid: an aircraft carrier that had been converted into a New York City museum.  I’m assuming that I must have been very excited about it, because, as a kid, I was fascinated with all sorts of war machines.  In fact, in elementary school, I was sent to the school psychologist as a result of my penchant for drawing pictures of planes, tanks, and battleships during class.  However, the only thing I remember about that weekend was being molested by my mother’s Uncle Harvey.
            My grandma’s apartment has 2 bedrooms.  My mother slept with my grandma in her bed.  Harvey and I slept in the guest bedroom.  When I woke up in the morning, Harvey was sitting on my bed.  He was also kissing me on the mouth and fondling my crotch.  I’m not exactly sure how old I was at the time, but I think I was 14, 15, or 16 years old. 

            In addition to the kissing and fondling, Harvey murmured something about “young flesh” at least once.  This incident happened many years ago.  However, sometimes, when I see an attractive young woman, the words “young flesh” will pop into my head.  What a sick world.  Once Harvey realized I had woken up, he looked terrified.  “Shhh!” he emitted while gesturing toward my grandma’s bedroom.  I don’t remember him saying anything other than that to me about his transgression.  At least he stopped molesting me once he realized I was awake.

The possibility that I was 16 years old when it happened shamed me for many years.  If I was 16, then I should have hit him at least once.  If I was 16, I shouldn’t have let him get away with it unscathed.  I stopped beating myself up over it years ago.  I was in shock.  The molestation caught me completely by surprise.  After all, he molested me while I was asleep.  That’s what I woke up to.  Maybe I thought I was in the midst of a nightmare before realizing I was awake.  Also, as far as I know, he had never done that to me before.  However, when I was approximately 10 years old, I accompanied Harvey and my grandma on a trip to Niagara Falls and Canada.  I remember nothing about that trip.  Perhaps he wasn’t attracted to me then.

            I told no one about it until after Harvey died; then I told my mother.  Considering that I was telling her about the time her only son was molested by her uncle, she seemed pretty underwhelmed.  I’ve since come to the conclusion that she has some sort of a mental block about it.  I mentioned it to her again one day, and her reaction startled and disappointed me.  Her recollection of it is he asked me for my permission to touch him, I said no, and that was the end of it.  That’s not what happened, and that’s not what I told her.  I made sure to set her straight about it.  Years later, I broached the subject again, and, once again, according to her, he had asked for my permission, I denied it, and that’s all she wrote.  I set her straight again.  Even though she’s a motor-mouthed gossip, I strongly doubt she’s told anyone about the time her son was molested.

            Fairly recently, I moved back in to my mother’s house.  I wanted to try to find an affordable apartment on Long Island; I must have been temporarily insane.  It didn’t take me long to notice a familiar face amongst my mother’s framed photographs.  It was Harvey.  In her defense, it wasn’t a picture of only Harvey.  His three sisters also appeared in the photo.  Regardless, I thought it was inappropriate for my mother to display a framed photo of a molester in her home: especially one who had molested her own son.  I picked up the frame and placed the image against the shelf.  It took a while, but my mother noticed what I had done.  She said nothing to me about it; she simply picked up the frame and proudly displayed the photograph once again.  I was flabbergasted.   I usually try to avoid confrontation, but this time it was unavoidable.  Since there were other issues to discuss with her, I made a list of them in my notebook.

            It happened nearly every day.  While I was sitting at the dining room table to use her laptop, she was sitting in her favorite chair in the living room.  We sat close enough to each other so we wouldn’t have to raise our voices, but, today, we’d raise them anyway.  I was very nervous about confronting her; it even affected my breathing.  I kept putting it off.  I don’t recall all the things I eventually confronted her about that day, but I’m pretty sure I checked everything, or nearly everything, off my list.

Besides my issue with the photo, another incident comes to mind.  I hadn’t seen my mother in many years.  How many?  I’m not sure: at least ten.  I ignored her for many years.  I didn’t return any of her phone calls, emails, or letters.  We planned to meet in a Manhattan restaurant.  She arrived first and sat down.  I entered the restaurant, saw her, and made my way to the table.  First of all, she didn’t even get up to hug me.  This is when I began to realize what a cold fish she is.

It didn’t take very long for her to smile, point at me, and say, “One of your eyes is bigger than the other!”  I didn’t appreciate that.  As long as I can remember, my mother has been fat: especially her thighs and buttocks.  I’ve only seen her as a slim person in photographs.  Despite her imperfect physique, she has always enjoyed criticizing other people’s appearances.  In other words, she’s living in a glass house, but that doesn’t stop her from hurling stones.  I wish I had a billion dollars for every time she pointed at someone who was more obese than her, and whispered to me dramatically, “Look at how big that person is.”

I definitely confronted her about the comment she made about my eyes that day.  After I had reminded her of what she had said, that was my cue to say, “By the way, you have a giant fat ass!”

“Hey!” she said angrily.  In fact, it had been many years since I’d seen her so angry.  It seems like so many people think that calling a fat person fat is the second worst thing you can do after mistreating a child.  I disagree.  If a fat person messes with me, then I might call them fat.  Why not?  I’m not fat, and he or she is.

“That’s what you get for saying what you did about my eyes!”

“Oh, no!  Asses and eyes aren’t the same!”

True, but what do you say to that?  “At least I can’t do anything about my eyes!”  I responded.  The implication was clear.  If one of my eyes is bigger than the other, it’s not my fault.  Her big ass is her fault and no one else’s.  Trust me; I’ve seen the way she eats.  I finally got around to the photo.  “What kind of a mother would put up a picture of a child molester in her home: especially one who molested her own son?!”  She lifted her fat ass out of her chair, waddled over to the photo, picked it up and put it into a drawer.  I heard her sigh as she was on her way to the photo: as though I was the one that was out of line, not her.  Even though I couldn’t see, because I was behind her, I believe she rolled her eyes too.

She’s gotten better about it.  I since gave up on trying to find an affordable apartment on Long Island and instead moved back to Rochester, NY for the third time.  We last discussed the molestation in an email exchange.  It bothered me that I didn’t remember how old I was when it happened.  I asked her if she knew.  As previously mentioned, I believe she has a mental block about it.  She seems to know how old I was when this or that happened, but this time she drew a blank.  However, she added, via email, “If you ever want to talk about it, let me know.”  Once again, she couldn’t recall the details of the molestation and asked me to remind her.  I told her again; perhaps the fourth time will be the charm.  Her response?  “I remembered the fondling, but not the kissing.”  Immediately after that sentence, she asked me if I had seen a certain movie, which is what our emails are usually about.  She’s a movie nut, and I enjoy good films too.  Hell of a segue though.     

   

                         

9/11 in Manhattan

This is where I watched 9/11 happen in New York.

             “A plane just flew into one of the twin towers!” Kelly exclaimed.  She had just opened the door to the apartment after having walked our dog Henry. 

            That was how I woke up on September 11, 2001.  I loved those buildings.  From our apartment, it took about twenty minutes for me to walk down there.  Sometimes I walked down by the Hudson River and crossed the pedestrian bridge at Stuyvesant High School.  Most of the time, I paused on the steps to the street to take a long look at the twin towers.  I marveled at their size and symmetry.  I gazed at them frequently.  Walking around New York, buildings often block your view of other buildings.  Whenever I could see them, I drank them in.

            "What?" I uttered.

            "This plane was flying really low.  It was very loud!  I was talking to this woman, who was also walking her dog, and we both heard it and looked up at it.  Then we heard this loud explosion and saw that it had hit the World Trade Center!" she said.

            I immediately got out of bed, put some clothes on, and went down to the east corner of our block.  There it was: the gaping, smoking hole in the building that was left by the first plane.  I stared at it, along with other people who had stopped at the same street corner to look at it.  After giving Henry some food, Kelly joined me.

            “Wow.  What if a terrorist had been flying that plane?” I asked Kelly.

            “Wow,” she said.

            We continued to stare at it.  We were transfixed by what we saw.

            "Does anyone know how it happened?" a man from our corner group asked.

            "A plane hit it," Kelly replied.

            "I don't know about that," said another guy at the corner.  "I didn't see a plane hit it."

            "Well I did," said Kelly.

            This guy continued to verbally doubt that a plane had hit the building.

            We were looking at the burning building when a huge explosion occurred on the face of the other building.  One of the things I'll never forget about that explosion, from seeing it on the street, is the huge fireball that slowly rose and poof!  It disappeared.

            Our corner group reacted to that.  I went back inside, grabbed my camera, and took pictures of the burning buildings.  Equally interesting to me are the people who were caught by my camera's eye, who were on the street watching the buildings.

            "It was a plane!  I saw it!" said one of the men on our corner about the most famous explosion in world history.  Strangely, he had a smile on his face when he said that.

            It was confirmed that we were under attack.  I looked down and kicked the concrete below me.  I was an angry American.  Not only was this my country, but it was my city and my favorite buildings.

            Our group became larger as more people stopped to watch.

            "There's niggas inside there?" a man asked.

            Kelly and I looked at him and nodded.

            "Oh, shit!" he exclaimed.

            I saw some people on the street who were laughing.  I saw a woman running uptown; she was crying.  I saw our downstairs neighbor, Danny.

            "Hey, Danny," I said.

            This little old man was angry.  "Can you believe this?  They hit the Pentagon, too!" he said.

            That was news to us.  We followed him into our apartment building like zombies.  It was time to turn on the television.  We were freaking out.  What if more planes are headed to New York?  What if one of our planes shoots one down, and it crash lands on Manhattan and kills us?  Those thoughts were running through my mind.

            Poor Henry seemed to be confused and troubled.  I remember him looking at me.  He knew that Kelly and I were upset, but we weren't fighting.

            The phone rang.  Kelly picked it up.  "Hello?" she said.  "Oh, hi Doug!  I know!  So I assume that the store is closed until further notice.  Okay.  Good-bye."  She hung up the phone.  "The store is closed until further notice," she said to me.  That meant I had the day off from work.

            When the towers fell, I was shitting: literally.  I felt like I didn't have the luxury of being glued to the TV set; we might have to run for our lives.  I better take care of business while I have a chance to.  I've never been more afraid for my life before or since.  Upon exiting the bathroom, I realized that Kelly had gone out.  I went out as well.  While standing on LaGuardia Place, I saw World Trade Center Building 7 collapse.  More cries from the witnesses were heard.

            A white man, who appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties, passed by on a bicycle.  "Deport every Arab.  Kill every Arab you see," he was chanting to whoever might be listening.

            "Shut the hell up!" a voice yelled loudly from behind me.

            The man on the bike shut up.

            I turned in the direction that the angry voice had come from.  I saw a young man with an olive complexion return my glance with furious eyes.

            I saw a man jogging shortly after the Towers fell.  That's a man who's serious about his exercise.  I suppose that would make some people angry: not me.  I exercise four days a week without exception.  It's important to me.  Besides, if he had nothing to do with the attacks, then why hate him for jogging?

            What bothered me was seeing a man and woman, both in their twenties and dressed in black, riding bicycles on Bleecker Street right after the Towers fell.  They looked like East Village bohemians.  They were smiling and laughing, and they seemed to be completely unaware of the catastrophe that was only a twenty-minute walk away.  Oh, you're so different from everybody else, aren't you?  You're so cool.

            Kelly and I got dinner from a Chinese restaurant and ate it in front of the television.  We were listening to an interview with a man who had escaped from one of the Towers.  He was covered in dust, and he was telling the story of how he had survived.

            "As I was going down the stairs, I passed by handicapped people who were waiting for someone to help them," he said before choking up.

            Kelly and I both cried for the first time that day.

            The next day, like many people all over the world, we continued to watch television coverage of 9/11.  The phone rang.  Kelly answered it.

            "Hello?  Hi, Doug," she said.  She became very angry.  "Are you serious?!" she yelled.

            "Give me the phone," I said to her.  She had just yelled at my boss.

            "Hi, Zach," Doug said.  "We are opening the store today."

            "Okay," I replied.  It was Wednesday, one of my scheduled work days.

            Kelly was really pissed off.  She thought it was a terrible idea to open the bookstore the day after 9/11.  I understood why she felt that way.  You're living on a small island, and the day after thousands of people were murdered on that island, you're going back to business as usual.  In fairness, Lynn and Doug, the owners of the store, opened it seven days a week.  They probably reopened it out of habit.  I was concerned about the fires that were raging fairly close to my home.  In retrospect, it was very unlikely that the fires would be allowed to spread that far.  At the time, though, I was still a little shell-shocked.  I was thinking, okay, I'll go to work.  However, if I need to leave, to help Kelly evacuate, I won't hesitate.

            Doug had told Lynn about Kelly yelling at him over the phone.  She was angry at Kelly.  "Wouldn't you rather be here than watching TV?" she asked me.

            No, I thought.  "Yes," I said.

            The store was busy that day.  It annoyed me.  It’s the day after 9/11, and you're shopping?  We had no break room to eat our lunches in.  We would just sit in a corner of the store and eat.  Sometimes we had to move because we were blocking books that a customer wanted to browse.  Frequently, we had to stop eating to help a customer.  It was pretty annoying, but at least it was paid time.  Once again, my lunch was interrupted by someone who needed help finding a book.  This time, I was more irritated than usual.  I have to be here.  Why are you here?  I know that a lot of people demonize television, but aren't you interested in what's going on in the world today?

            I’ve heard people say, "Never forget what happened on 9/11!"

            I couldn't forget it if I tried.  I think about it nearly every day.  Even after that day, I would still look in the direction of the Towers, hoping to see them.  Ground Zero burned for months.  One night, there was ash on the sidewalk in front of our apartment building that looked like snow.  It’s still a little hard for me to believe that it all really happened.  I'm somewhat obsessed with 9/11.  I have magazines and newspapers from the day after.  I've recorded lots of documentaries about it.

            I love music: especially heavy metal.  The next CD I wanted to buy was Beneath the Remains by Sepultura.  Before I went into the Sam Goody store that used to be on Sixth Avenue near Eighth Street, I looked south toward Ground Zero.  The familiar plume of smoke emanating from there was drifting toward New Jersey.  This is a pretty morbid title to be purchasing, considering what happened down there.  Should I buy it?  Sure, I thought.  I had nothing to do with those attacks, nor would I ever do anything like that.  I bought it.  Besides, if I hadn't bought it, then the terrorists would have won, right? 

            I walked down to Ground Zero while it was still burning.  I was very familiar with the route I took, it was the circumstances that had changed drastically.  I came as close as I could, and in doing so joined a small group that had gathered at the gates of hell.  Two cops were there to keep anyone from getting any closer.  They appeared to be quite irritated.  Traffic was also blocked from coming any closer to Ground Zero.  A man walked onto the street so he could get a better picture with his camera.

            “Get out of the street!” yelled one of the cops angrily at the man with the camera.

            “Okay,” he said, while snapping another photo.

            “Get out of the street or you’re going to be arrested!” shouted the cop.

            That did it.  The man went back to the corner, where we were looking at a building that had tons of steel and other debris on top of it.  That was all we could really see, but it was an incredible sight nonetheless.  A woman went into the street to snap a photo or two.  Apparently, you could see a little more from the street.

            “Get out of the street now!” the other cop roared.

            “Okay,” she said.  She continued to take pictures.

            “Do you want to go to jail?!” he shouted.

            “No,” she replied.  She went back to the corner.

            “These people are pathetic,” one cop said to the other, who agreed with him.

            I disagree.  I can’t speak for the rest of the people on that corner, but I was there to see part of an unbelievable moment in world history.  I believe that 9/11 is the most incredible day in human history.  You almost can’t overstate the importance of 9/11.  Who knows?  It may turn out to be the beginning of the end of our world.  It led directly to one American war, and, as many people have alleged, it made the war in Iraq possible.  How many people have died in these wars?  How many people have been killed in the war on terror?  As for the cops, instead of being angry at us, they should have directed their anger at those who were responsible for planning and carrying out the attacks. 

            Life must go on though.  9/11 happened on a Tuesday.  Kelly took the rest of the week off from work.  After all, she had seen all the major events in New York with her own eyes: not through the filter of television.

            Weeks later, I was working at the store with my coworker Jose.  The phone rang.  Jose picked it up. 

            "Memoir Bookshop," he said.  His demeanor suddenly became serious.  "It's started?  Okay.  We'll turn on the radio.  Thanks.  Bye-bye."  He hung up.  He turned on the radio and twisted the knob to find the station that he wanted.

            "We're attacking Afghanistan," he declared.

            "Wow," I said.

            Some of the customers heard that exchange.  "Excuse me, what did you say?" a lady asked.

            "The military is attacking Afghanistan," Jose replied.

            Some of the people in the store displayed fear on their faces.  They knew our country was heading down a dangerous road.  I'm sure they knew that a response to 9/11 was inevitable, but it seemed like they weren't quite ready for it.

Why I Became a Vegan

What a lineup!

 There are many reasons to become a vegetarian or a vegan, but this is probably the best one. If enough people became vegetarians, we could wipe out world hunger. The premise is simple. A massive amount of food is grown to feed pigs, cows, chickens, etc.  If we ceased to intentionally bring these animals into the world for our consumption, then all that food that would have gone to the animals can now be used to feed hungry people.  I'm not suggesting starving the existing livestock.  But if most people stopped eating meat, it would greatly reduce the demand for animal flesh, so less animals would be brought into the world to eat the staggering amounts of food grown for them.  This makes the extra food available for human consumption.  Obviously, animal populations could be controlled easily by separating males from females.

I saw a documentary called Forks Over Knives. The main message of the film is a powerful one. A whole-foods, plant-based (vegan) diet is much healthier than one that includes animal products (meat, dairy, and eggs). Several studies have shown that a diet that includes too many animal products is more likely to give the consumer of such a diet heart disease or cancer. We all have cancer cells in our body. A diet that contains too much animal products could cause these cells to develop into the disease. On the other hand, vegetables like broccoli, cauliflower, and cabbage help fight cancer. Being a vegan is win-win. It's good for you, and it's good for the animals. Conversely, not being a vegan can be lose-lose. The innocent animals definitely lose. The non-vegan might lose too when all the animals he ate reach from their graves to get their vengeance by pulling him down with them.

As most people know, obesity has become a major health problem in America. Before I became a vegan, I was wearing size 42 waist pants. I was, as a coworker told me, pudgy (to say the least). I currently fit comfortably into size 30 waist pants.

Anyone who cares about the environment should be a vegetarian. Many environmental organizations have come to the conclusion that raising animals for food contributes to global warming and pollution in a major way. Because there are so many of them, cows emit more greenhouse gases (from their bodies) than automobiles. Countless trees have been cut down to make room for livestock. Livestock production also leads to soil erosion, and the massive amount of pesticides it uses contaminates earth and water.

As a vegan, I assure you it is easy to be a vegetarian. Many different delicious varieties of veggie burgers, and other foodstuffs, are ready and waiting to fill the void when one ceases to eat meat. Some taste like burgers, others taste like chicken

Ever since I was a kid I've had problems with the way that people treat animals. Whenever I saw someone walking a dog, for instance, it didn't seem right to me. The dog wasn't free; he was leashed and under the control of the person who was walking him. Also, I knew that some dogs were only allowed to go outside when people took them out. I have understood, for many years now, why dogs are treated this way. I have walked dogs many times, and I know that leashes help keep them safe. Regardless, I think it's a shame that humans have taken control of this world in such a complete and total way. Obviously, animals belong here as much as we do. This world belongs to them as much as it does to us.

I was raised to eat meat. My father left us when I was two years old, so my mother had to raise me by herself; money was tight. I think this is the main reason why I really don't miss most of the sorts of meat that she fed me. When it came to steak, we didn't dine on fillet mignon, we ate London broil, which is a shoulder cut. It was quite chewy. I don't miss eating steak at all. Similarly, it's easy for me to do without the pork chops that I used to eat in my mother's home. I'm picturing them now: with the ring of fat around them that disgusted me every time. I'll admit that I really used to enjoy eating hamburgers and bacon. If they were to announce on the news that, somehow, hamburgers, bacon, and American cheese, all previously thought to be non-vegan foods, are in fact all 100% vegan, then I'd probably run out and eat as many bacon cheeseburgers as I could. Obviously, that's not going to happen. Besides, I've eaten my share of bacon, cheese, and burgers.

I also don’t miss eating eggs. I still can recall that egg farts are the worst. Before I became a vegan, I enjoyed many foods that contained eggs: like mayonnaise and baked goods. Since then, I have eaten many delicious vegan baked goods, and there is a tasty egg-free product called Vegenaise that has effectively replaced mayonnaise in my fridge. I don’t bake, but I know that there’s at least one vegan product out there that replaces eggs in recipes that call for them.

Once I started to become aware of the horrible ways in which so-called food animals are treated, I became a vegetarian. I was a college student at the time. I was a vegetarian for about two and a half years, and then I went back to eating meat.

I used to live in New York City, and I used to watch a lot of TV. One of the interesting things about watching TV in New York City is the variety of public access television programming that is available. That is where I saw several programs that had been put on the air by animal rights activists. One of the first such programs I saw was narrated by Pam Anderson. It showed men treating cows brutally in India. I had heard that cows are sacred to Indians, but, after seeing this show, it was clear that not all of them felt that way.

I also remember seeing chimpanzees confined in tiny washing-machine-like cells. The chimpanzees had been deliberately infected with a communicable disease so the scientists could study the effects it had on them. The scientists didn't want to catch whatever disease they had given to the chimpanzees, so they kept them completely isolated. That meant that they would not get to leave their cells: at all. They would receive no physical contact from outside their cells, and all the chimpanzees were separated from each other. Additionally, there was nothing in their cells aside from the chimpanzees: no toys or anything to help them pass the time. This enraged and saddened me. One could easily walk past the door of this room, where the chimpanzees were being kept, and not even know they were in there. Right away, I imagined what it would be like if I was unfortunate enough to be trapped in one of their bodies. I think the ability to sympathize with the plight of animals is one of the main reasons why people become vegans and vegetarians. I'm very lucky that I've never been treated the way those chimpanzees have been treated. I wouldn't be able to handle it. I'd have nothing to look forward to except for death.

Watching these kinds of shows convinced me to become a vegan. Once I found out what a vegan was, I came to the conclusion that being a vegetarian wasn't going far enough: at least as far as I was concerned. The main issue is intense confinement. As many people know, pigs are considered to be at least as intelligent as dogs are. I’ve seen, on TV, pigs who were much-loved pets. I saw a pig push a soccer ball around and put it back in his toy box when he was done. Unfortunately, many pigs and calves are forced to live in stalls that give them no room to walk. Many of them don’t even have enough room to turn around or fully extend their limbs. Calves are taken away from their mothers shortly after birth so people can have the milk instead; naturally, this upsets cows and calves. Egg-laying hens are often kept in tiny battery cages. Again, as with pigs and calves, these hens are given only the bare minimum when it comes to personal space. But this is only the tip of the iceberg. If anyone wants to know how eating meat, eggs, and dairy causes suffering in the animal world, there’s plenty of information about it on the Internet, in books, and in documentaries. I highly recommend reading Animal Liberation by Peter Singer: especially chapters two and three. Chapter two describes how live animals have been treated when they've been experimented on in laboratories. Chapter three lets the reader know what life is like for food animals that live within the cruel confines of a factory farm.

People are cruel to many different animals in many different ways. For countless animals, ours is a reign of terror. I’ve seen cruelty to animals in movies. Animals that are forced to perform in circuses are usually treated badly; they certainly aren’t allowed to live natural lives. It’s horrible that many animals have been killed just so people could have fur coats.

We take everything, everything, from animals. We take away their freedom and contentedness. We take away opportunities to follow their natural instincts. We don't allow them to live the sorts of lives they were meant to live. We often don't allow them to raise, or ever spend time with, their young. Conversely, we make orphans out of baby animals. And, of course, we take their lives and their mutilated bodies.

I’m not perfect. The sweet seduction of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups has caused me to fall off the vegan wagon. I've also given in to the urge to eat mozzarella cheese. Since I became a vegan, in 2002, I have not spent any money on foods which contain any meat, milk, or eggs. I went through a weak period. It began at a former workplace. Sometimes my coworkers would bake cookies to share with the rest of us. I’d see them on the break-room table, and sometimes I gave in to temptation. I wasn’t proud of myself, but I attempted to rationalize my transgressions by reminding myself that I hadn’t paid for them. I may have eaten something that had milk or eggs in it, but I didn’t support the meat, egg, or dairy industries with my money. I tried to convince myself that I had found a loophole, but I knew it was bogus. At no time have I eaten any meat since I became a vegan. I have since rededicated myself to being a vegan, and I am stronger than ever when it comes to resisting temptation. For instance, instead of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, I eat dark chocolate with peanut butter. Vegan dark chocolate and peanut butter are very easy to find.

Spending quality time with food animals could very well convince someone to become a vegetarian. I have stroked the wattles of turkeys, rubbed pig bellies, and hugged cows. This all happened when I visited Farm Sanctuary, which is near Watkins Glen, NY. It is a great organization. Many of these animals really seemed to appreciate the affection that people showered upon them. These are sweet, innocent animals that deserve to be treated well.

There’s no shortage of reminders why I should be a vegan. I've seen horrible footage. I've seen a worker, who was holding a piglet by her rear legs, bash her head against a hard floor repeatedly as she screamed. I've seen workers throwing live chickens savagely against a wall. The same workers stomped on live chickens. I've seen an animal skinned alive for his fur. I've seen plenty of footage of animals being killed, and all of it is 100% ugly: no exceptions.

I saw a documentary called Food, Inc., which, ultimately, angered me. Toward the end of the film, the filmmaker visited with a farmer who raises food animals in a "natural" way. For instance, the pigs seemed to have it better than those who are forced to live on factory farms. A guy from Chipotle Mexican Grill was also there. Apparently, according to what I heard in the movie, they get their meat from places like that instead of factory farms, because they care about animals. If they really cared about animals, they wouldn't serve meat at all! They were all smiling and acting like this was the perfect solution to animal suffering. They were gleefully ignoring the fact that those pigs would eventually be killed, and that would be nothing to smile and feel good about.

Also in the movie, a farmer was preparing fresh chicken carcasses to be sold when he said something like, "Isn't this great? We're not in a dirty building doing this; we're outside." Around the time he was saying that with a smile on his face, one of the employees took a chicken out of a cage and shoved her into a device that was clearly designed to make slashing a chicken's throat nice and easy. That's just what the employee did. The poor chicken cried out fearfully from the time she was grabbed in the cage till she died. I disagree with the farmer and the guy from Chipotle. Killing is ugly and it always will be.

I won't be satisfied until nearly everyone has become at least a vegetarian: preferably a vegan. The animals need many people to change the way they eat. The vast majority of people do not need to eat meat in order to survive. They simply choose to do so. These animals don't deserve to live horrible lives simply because many people refuse to limit their food choices at all. Most people, if not practicing direct cruelty, practice a sort of casual cruelty. Buying meat in a store, ordering it in a restaurant, or buying garments made of leather are all examples of casual cruelty. It's so easy to practice this sort of cruelty. You don't have to kill the animals and butcher them. You're just paying other people to do it.

Please become a vegetarian. Giving up foods that contain eggs is the next easy step. The hardest part, at least it was for me, is saying goodbye to all foods which contain milk. Just remember, we are all animals. Think of all the things we have in common with them. Like many of them, we have two eyes, a nose, a mouth, teeth, and so on. There are many, many similarities between us and them. I consider all the animals of the world to be my brothers and sisters. Please don’t treat them any worse than you’d treat your daughter or your mother. And please don’t support a system that forces them to live in misery until their lives are taken for no good reason.