Eggplant Eater

I never saw it coming. Over lunch, my dad mentioned ever-so-casually that he's been a vegetarian for months. Moreover, his reasons aren't health-related, but moral.

Whoa.

Apparently he's always had an underlying sense of outrage at the thought that we need to take life to survive. Growing up, "vegetarian" just wasn't in the vocabulary, and eschewing the animals wasn't particularly easy when my brother and I were kids. I guess it finally dawned on him that we are all grown up, and so now he's a vegetarian.

Whoa, I say, whoa.

It's probably not unusual that I developed a moral code that reflects my upbringing. I'd say that the recipe boils down to 2 parts Dad, 2 parts Mom, and 1 part TV. I'd even say that my moral code, while necessarily unique to me, fits squarely within the boundaries of both parents' guidelines. That's the way it's supposed to be, right?

I have no problem eating animals... but suddenly, this means that my sense of right-and-wrong doesn't agree with my Dad's. This is profoundly disturbing.

That's the blog post I would've written if I was utterly selfish. Here's what the actual post is:

Can you imagine spending decade after decade feeling guilty? Can you imagine the dilemma he faced every time he sat down to dinner? Rather than rock the family boat, he chose to suffer quietly. He put his comfort second to that of his friends and family.

That says a lot.