I miss being naïve. “Ignorance is bliss” goes the saying. I wish I could go back to the days of laying in the sun with baby oil smeared all over my scrawny legs.
What I wouldn’t give to come home to my dad grilling burgers medium-rare after skating (without a helmet or kneepads) on the broken sidewalks of my little hometown.
A child of the seventies, I ate cold pepperoni pizza that had sat on the counter overnight. Sugary Kool-Aid flowed like wine, and a healthy breakfast included both toast and sweetened cereal along with hefty servings of orange juice and milk.
I was the girl who loved a bloody steak, the bloodier, the better. My favorite food as a child was fried chicken. Not once did I connect these meats with an actual living, breathing creature.
I hate that I know how the animals we eat for food are really treated. I hate that I know humanely slaughtered animals aren’t treated humanely at all.
