Bert's Market was a grocery store in my hometown of central Florida that I remember for three reasons: It was always freezing, the place reeked because they butchered their meat on site, and it's where I learned where the meat we ate came from.
One day, my sisters and I were with our dad at Bert's when he lifted a package in front of us and made it dance. I was probably too little to know what species of animal the shrink-wrapped feet had belonged to, but Dad confirmed they were once part of a pig when he oinked. My older sister Ashley thought it was hilarious. My younger sister Abby laughed along with Ashley. I cried. And the feet danced "wee-wee-wee all the way home."
That might've been the first time I said I'd never eat meat again.
When Abby and I were in middle school, we decided to give vegetarian life a try. That night before dinner we had a conversation with Dad about it.
"What kind of tacos are we having?"
"Beef."
Abby and I decided we wouldn't be vegetarians that day.
In my adult life I've experienced situations that have prompted further consideration of giving up meat; like when I became a pet owner, when I was in a car that hit a raccoon, when I walked the stables at a county fair and saw the animals drawing breath, or that time I witnessed a rabbit's death in rural Ontario. Read more of this post
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