Contrary to my grandfather’s openness, he is a man somewhat fixed in traditions. He supported Black and homosexual track and field athletes before anyone of his generation, opening his home and talent and heart by putting the “athlete” part first. That is his openness.
He, however, needs to have Thanksgiving on Thanksgiving, not recognizing that the traditions of giving thanks and enjoying each other’s company [as opposed to being tired as fuck from helping them move all weekend/week/month/Summer (depending on the respective family member and their level of helpfulness)] is more important that doing so on the day that the pilgrims fucked the North American native populations.
He, contrary to his openness, needs to have meat at dinner. And as such, sees my veganism in such a light. He will come close, because out of love, comes his support. However, he will comment on veganism’s perceived (and sometimes real) pitfalls. Usually, in this situation, he will defer to logic (as the protein argument/discussion went, quashed with a couple of Thrive Fitness protein graphics). One of the things that his logic will deflect, or should I say ignore, is the animal argument. The argument that eating animals should be questioned, not just done out of “tradition.”
As we were cleaning out the final remnants of my grandparents’ house today, my brother and I found a slip of paper. This slip of paper is of unknown origins. This slip of paper is of unknown owner. However, this slip of paper is the connection between veganism and my grandfather, even though its original intentions we connected to arguing against evolution or for religion or who even knows, even though the sole basis of his follow-up argument was “but you don’t eat monkeys!”. This slip of paper connects love to love: