I usually am not a preachy vegan. So I apologize. I give you permission to scroll past this now.

I have issues remembering a lot from my childhood. I don’t know, maybe whatever part of my brain that retains long-term memories developed later than most people’s, but regardless of what caused it, most moments from my childhood are lost to me.

I do remember, however, a strangely vivid moment. I was about seven or so, eating at Applebee’s with my mom, where we shared meals quite often (at the high tables, which were my favorite.) We both had identical grilled chicken and ranch burgers we were enjoying, when I had what could only be to my seven-year-old brain as an epiphany:

“This chicken used to be real and alive.”

My mom quickly swallowed and snapped at me.

“You don’t talk about those things while we’re eating.”

We don’t? I feel like the biggest issue we have about eating flesh is that people are so ignorant about it. Why, if she knew exactly what she was doing, would my mother be so complacent with eating a dead animal but once the topic was brought up would shy away from it?

Honestly, I’m fine if you make the decision to eat meat. It’s your own thing, and I respect you for your opinions. But as long as you’re eating it, I need you to realize that this was an animal — a living, breathing being that had a family and a life — that was more likely than not killed in a brutal way. To pretend that it wasn’t is disrespectful to its life more than just eating it ever could be.  

So please, I don’t want you to eat animals — but I know that that won’t stop you. All I ask is that you stop and think about that animal. Live your life knowing that they died for you — never let their deaths be in vain.