Kermit the Frog of “Sesame Street” fame and I have similar problems from different directions.
Kermit points out in his signature song that “It’s Not Easy Being Green.” I do not have that problem because I pass for something called “white,” although I am more of a light beige, except in the summer when the sun turns me into a ruddy caramel. (I have not been green since the summer of 1963 when I tried to learn to chew tobacco.)
On the other hand, Kermit has never suffered public ridicule for his eating habits. He eats flies, mosquitoes, moths, dragonflies and even an occasional grasshopper. In other words, he is a carnivore — a meat-eater — just like most other Columbus residents with American roots that go back 100 years or more.
Kermit can go to a buffet dinner at the local Knights of Pond Scum Lodge and blend in like the mainstream amphibian he is. No one tries to make him eat broccoli. No one sneaks a “bit of kale” into the gnat soup or the worm casserole “for seasoning.”
Sadly, I wish my fellow human beings were as tolerant of me. For although I am not green, I am (Dare I actually write the word in this community newspaper on the Lord’s day?) a vegetarian. If I were to write a song, it would be “It’s Not Easy Going Meatless.”
If it helps you understand my situation better, let me explain that I only came out as a vegetarian about 20 years ago. For most of my life I struggled to fit in, in spite of the fact that I never liked the taste or texture of meat. I never liked the way I felt after a full meal, as the pieces of animal flesh fought with my stomach.
I learned to consume hamburgers by piling on so much ketchup, mustard, onions, tomatoes and lettuce that I couldn’t taste the meat. I could manage a steak by pouring on a cup of A-1 Sauce and then secretly spitting most of it in my napkin when no one was looking.
Then one evening in 1998 — shortly after returning to Bartholomew County after a 25-year absence — I decided “enough is enough” and came out of the culinary closet. I quit eating all kinds of meat — including fish and other seafood — but continued to include eggs and dairy products in my diet. (I learned that the label for me is “ovo-lacto vegetarian.”)
My close friends generally just accepted my new diet as a silly fad — another oddball idea from a man who had done weird things before. Most, however, quit inviting my wife (who had joined me in the madness) and me over for dinner, saying, “We would have no idea what to cook.” More distant acquaintances were less broadminded. “Why would you want to do such a thing?” they asked. Had I joined some religious sect? Had I become one of those animal rights lunatics? Was I trying to destroy farm families? Was my cholesterol out of control?
I told them God had sent me no messages about food and that I was OK with other people eating any animal they wished, except my cats. (I even bought a T-shirt with an inscription that said, “I am not a vegetarian because I love animals. I am a vegetarian because I HATE vegetables and plan to kill and eat them all.”)
I told them my cholesterol was fine and that I eat enough eggs, cheese and yogurt to do my share for the farm economy.
Still, those were the days, 20-years ago, when Columbus was not the inclusive place it is today — ethnically or religiously. Those who had lived in the area for generations, believing only communists pass up pork barbecue and hog rinds, were often angered by my food choices.
A minister at a party once lectured me that the Bible says, “God gave man dominion over animals in the Book of Genesis” and that vegetarianism is “an abomination in his eyes.”
A waitress in a local restaurant once looked at me in disgust when I asked her to make sure there was no meat in my salad. Later she brought me a salad covered with bacon, so I reminded her I had asked for “no meat.” She replied, “There’s no meat in that salad, just bacon.”
Columbus is much more “vegetarian friendly” these days. In 1998, restaurant menus had just two “meatless” entrees” — fettuccine Alfredo and mac and cheese. (Basically the same thing, but with about a $10 price differential for putting the Italian words on the menu.) Today, I can get some sort of vegetarian entree in most Columbus restaurants — even some of the tofu dishes the strict carnivores love to hold up to ridicule, accompanied by sick expressions and shivers .
And I used to go to catered meals put on by service organizations and dine on dinner rolls because every side-dish, salad or casserole had some sort of meat ingredient “for seasoning.” More and more often today, the buffet line has bacon bits or ham chunks “on the side” to add or not as the diner wishes.
Kermit and I appreciate the change. We are now writing a song together called “It Is Getting Easier To Be Us.”
Bud Herron is a retired editor and newspaper publisher who lives in Columbus. He served as publisher of The Republic from 1998 to 2007. His weekly column appears on the Opinion page each Sunday. Contact him at editorial@therepublic.com
