The Feminist Bible Study had started weekly
screenings of independent films about the secret politics of food, racism in
America, and the latest climate change numbers. And for the last month, I
couldn’t drink regular coffee without seeing visions of Columbian women shaking their heads at me. “Why’s that?” Dad responded curtly from the kitchen. I knew he had made the meal especially for me. Eggs Benedict had been my favorite meal as far back as I could remember. But I had sworn off the dish after seeing the documentary on abuses in corporate farms. “Oh, I saw that the eggs were from a factory farm, and I told you over the phone I’m not eating meat anymore.” Over the last six months, I had stopped spouting off Bible verses and had become a fountain of liberal factoids. “Okay,” he sighed, irritated. He stabbed his fork into his perfectly poached egg yolk. Listening to me pontificate seemed to tighten every muscle in his face. “Mike, you said you would let it go,” Mom warned him. It was obvious they had been arguing about how to deal with my new worldview. “Can I eat in my bedroom?” my brother asked, knowing where the conversation was headed. “No!” she snapped at him. “We are a family. And families eat together.” I looked down at the eggs and ham. Factory farm or not, I hated seeing my mom yell at my brother for a conflict I was causing. It was clear that her motherly instinct to be de-facto supportive of my interests had reached its end. “Okay, fine,” I said, picking up my fork and taking a bite of the eggs. After a month without meat, it tasted better than I remembered.