Why Vegans Are Hostile Towards “Plant-Based” Eaters

Growing up, you are always taught the basics: people who eat meat were the norm, people who didn’t eat meat were vegetarians, and people who didn’t eat any animal products were vegans. Those are/were the levels of people with what they ate. However, this classification has caused strife in the world.

I cannot tell you how many times I have seen arguments about what vegans are and what they are not. That’s when I was introduced to a new classification: Plant-Based.

So from everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve read, and everything I’ve heard, I can safely tell you the difference between a plant-based eater and a vegan person.

A plant-based person is someone who avoids all animal products (sounds like a vegan, right?). However, plant-based eaters are not necessarily doing it for animal rights. They are not necessarily avoiding meat because they see inhumanely slaughtered animals in every piece of steak. They don’t see cows beaten with metal pipes because they are not cooperating with the milking machines when they see milk in the stores. Plant-based eaters are usually eating that way for health reasons and are often much less judgemental of others who continue to eat meat.

Vegans are all of the above, avoiding animal products like the plague, because they see the suffering in the animal products. They hear the squeals of pigs in fear and suffering when you bite into a sausage. They see the knife slitting a cows alive throat when you bite into your burger. They see the tears of terrified animals when their flesh is being used. And because of this violent world that most people do not even know about, vegans take on the role of educating the world and fighting for the rights of these living creatures who cannot speak for themselves. Vegans could NEVER make the mistake of eating an animal product nor even using something made from animals so long as they can help it. It’s just not something they can bring themselves to do in the name of suffering animals. Yes, sometimes vegans come across harsh, maybe even too hard sometimes pushing people away from veganism rather than drawing them to it, but it does come from their passion and their inability to understand why you don’t care for these amazing creatures who are suffering needlessly for your meals. It would be the same for someone who’s anti-abortion not being able to understand how someone could take an innocent life. It’s the exact same thing – both species unable to speak out for themselves, both lives being needlessly ended.

So where does the hostility come between vegans and the plant-based people? Well, it comes when the plant-based eaters claim to be vegans, and then tell people it’s still ok to have some animal products. Nothing angers vegans more than people pretending to be for their cause, claiming to be under the same category, yet supporting something they don’t support at all, something they in fact go out of their way to fight against. So obviously, this makes them very upset and causes them often to lash out against those that are ruining their name. It is very common for vegans to ask these “fake vegans” to change their name to plant-based, and often times a fight will begin before plant-based people finally find out what the vegan movement is truly about.

Do I believe in acting so hostile towards each other? No. I’m pretty sure these “fake vegans” don’t even know that there is a difference between claiming to be vegan and being plant-based. I really think it comes down to education because like I said, I grew up believing that eating no animal products makes you a vegan, so I can easily see how others would think that too.

Hopefully this helps some of you see the difference between the two classifications. I know it’s a bit confusing and may even seem a bit ridiculous to some people, but for anyone who has a true passion for something, you can probably understand how it feels when somebody seems to undo the work you’ve put so much effort into. Let’s just remember to educate and not hate. Peace out!

When I Realized My Grandfather Really Wasn’t Coming Back

Something happened today that really jarred my memory and brought me to write this post. I saw the following picture on Facebook and it got me thinking about my grandfather.

It took me right back to the moments where I can remember thinking about him and instantly started crying. Even now writing this, I can feel the water filling up in my eyes. I know many of you will say that you have/had an awesome grandfather to, but I’d like to take a minute to tell you about mine, and how special he truly was.

I guess it starts when my mother became pregnant with me. My parents were not married. I guess my grandfather liked my dad, but he was very upset about the whole situation and didn’t talk to my mother for days. However, being the man that he was, he still bought her a crib and everything she would need for me, even though he wasn’t talking to her. He was always that way, taking care of things even when he was upset.

Of course, as soon as I was born, he was completely smitten. My mother is a child of two, but lived very much a single child’s life. She never met her brother as he died on a surgery table a few months after he was born. That meant, I was the first and only grandchild.

My parents didn’t stay together very long. They did get married after I was born, but separated when I was about 4, officially divorcing when I was around 5. Where do you think we went back to? My grandparents. In fact, their home was very much “home base” my entire life.

My grandfather always spoiled me (and later my other siblings). I have pictures where my toys barely fit in the picture with me. My father told me that I would get tired of opening gifts because there were simply so many. I had this 6″+ man wrapped around my tiny finger. There’s no denying he loved me.

My grandfather was a used car salesman. In fact, it was my mother’s company that he worked for her since she dropped out of college to be home with me. The company was even named after my sister and I. But eventually he took over the company and changed its name since he did become the only one running the business.

I used to love visiting him at his office. My grandmother and I would get lunches for him, he would let me sit in his office chair, I would be called his “Number 1 Dudette”, and I loved the fact that everywhere we went, people always knew and respected my grandfather, and thus treated me as if I was a special person. I had never met anyone who didn’t know or like my grandfather.

If you could imagine the biggest realistic playground in the world, that would be my grandfather’s car lot. He gave me access to all the keys and vehicles in his lot. I can still remember the amount of fun we had pretending to drive the cars, and especially in exploring the only RV I remember him having. Only once did he ask me to backup a truck into a corner spot. My mother sat in the passenger seat with me, and I remember learning really quick to use my mirrors. I was so scared I would mess up his vehicles in this tight spot. But I did it! I still can’t believe he trusted me…

If I could compare him to anything, it would very much be the godfather. I’m not joking when I say that everyone seemed to know who he was. He was an amazing man when he was happy, but he was always a man you feared when he was unhappy. I don’t remember him every getting mad at me, but it was a general rule that when he came home, the remote control to the television had to be in the right spot for him to lay on the couch and watch what he wanted. He became upset if the remote went missing. There were just certain things you knew not to do.

Sometimes, my grandmother and him would fight. I’m sure there’s not a couple in the world who has not at least had one argument. Sometimes, or maybe more than sometimes, this meant he would stay at his office for the night. It was a conveniently built, small building that contained 3 rooms and a tiny hallway. One room was “the office”. The second room was of course a washroom. And the third room was his bedroom. It contained only a tv, a bed, and a mini fridge. It pretty much had everything he needed if he needed a night away. So it was a fairly normal occurrence for him not to come home sometimes.

The best thing about my grandfather was that he was always there for us. There was a time when we didn’t have the most money, and work was slow. My grandfather always provided what we needed, and then some. Most of you know that I have moved like 20 times with my family, not including on my own. The one person who was always there, regardless of where we were, was my grandfather. He never missed an opportunity to come and stay with us. (Of course I should say my grandmother always came with him as well, but I will dedicate a post to her another day.) He was honestly one of the biggest constants in my life.

When my family made the official decision to move from the east coast to the west coast, my grandparents offered to bring my sister and I out at the end of summer so that we could spend the extra time with our father. It was a fair bit of a long drive, but even then my grandfather trusted me with reading the map (before GPS systems). I almost think his belief in me helped me grow to the independent woman I am today. I have a lot to credit him for.

They stayed with us at our new place for a few days. Early in the morning, him and I would get up and drive to a hotel or another homey restaurant to eat. He was not a chain-restaurant type of person. Even back in the town he worked, he had one particular restaurant he preferred to eat at, and everybody knew his specials and what he enjoyed eating. He always preferred the homestyle cooking. In fact, he met my grandmother while she was waitressing at such a type of restaurant. My family and I have visited that restaurant a few times and imagined what it must have been like. They still have the juke boxes and the old stools. Sometimes it’s nice to preserve history rather than to embrace change.

We then took a trip to the “big city” so my grandparents could see it before they left. We had a lot of fun. At one point, we lost my grandfather in the big mall. I’ll never forget him driving around on those motorized scooters for people who can’t walk well. He had even gotten an orange smoothie and I guess spilled it all over the machine. If you knew my grandfather like I did, you would picture him using colourful language for the time he was mad, then acting like nothing ever happened.

I don’t remember how we ever found him, but I can tell you it was one of the hardest good-byes of my life.This wasn’t just moving a few hours away, this was a four day drive across the country. Of course they would come visit again, but the visits would never be as frequent as before. What I didn’t know was that my tears would get worse before they ever got better.

Literally two or three days after we returned to our new home, I got a call from my grandmother. It sounded like her for sure, but something was a little different. She asked to speak to my mom pretty much right away, so I gave my mom the phone and sat on the landing of the stairs. My mother took the phone into her room which was at the top of the stairs. The next words I heard told me pretty much everything I didn’t want to hear. She said, as she began crying, “Oh Mom!”.

My grandparents had been involved in a car accident on their journey home. An impatient driver went in their lane to pass a semi-truck and didn’t see my grandparents van coming at them. My grandmother was in the hospital, a little bruised but otherwise ok (she would later need nose surgery to correct the alignment). My grandparents’ friend who was helping them drive home had so many broken bones, including ribs and shoulder, and would also need counselling for what happened (he was driving at the time – completely not his fault). But my grandfather didn’t make it.The speed they were traveling on the highway, and the impact of a completely head-on hit left the vehicle in shambles and took my grandfather with it.

Immediately, we packed and drove back to the city. I thankfully had a great aunt and uncle who lived just outside the limits and welcomingly invited us in until we could all make arrangements to fly home. My mother was able to fly right away to be with my grandmother, but there were 4 more of us to fly, and we had to wait for a cheaper ticket to afford it.

It was so strange when I got home. Being in my grandparents house seemed so normal. I mean, I was only at my “new home” for less than a week. I had no attachments to it and didn’t even have to act like it was supposed to be my new home. I had come home and it felt like life should be normal again.

I know I cried a few times, but I remember just having the attitude and thoughts of “My grandfather is just at his office, staying the night like he usually does. Sometime he’ll come home.”

I still remember it as clear as yesterday: My mother and I were sitting in the living room, on separate couches, not talking much as we didn’t for a while, and her saying the exact same thing that I felt – that Grampy was just at his office and sometime he would come home. And it hit us right then that we had to realize it was wasn’t true, that Grampy really wasn’t coming back. I broke down (just like I am again now) because he was always there, for everything! How could he not come back this time! How could the one stable thing in my life not come back! It was so hard to accept.

Sitting in his house, seeing all of his old stuff, going to his office, it was all so hard to do when you realize the person who has always been there for you, the person who has loved you your whole life was suddenly gone. My nickname would never be used again, except when telling stories of him. My promise from him of giving me my first car would never come true. My life was drastically left with an empty hole that I’m not sure was ever filled again. Nobody could take his place, and I could never have been prepared for that instant change in time.

Life is not fair, and it never will be. The devil is waiting for any opportunity to attack and make a mess of things. He knows which strings to pull and he knows how to make things hurt you more than anyone else. He knows he can damage us and take away everything that means the world to us, which is why it’s so important to turn to God when you’re hurting, to let Him hold you and tell you that everything is going to be ok, because one day, it will. One day, when Jesus returns and we are taken to Heaven with Him, there will not be anymore pain, there will not be anymore death, there will not be anymore tears. I don’t know what my grandfather’s relationship with Christ was like. I know he sort of had a falling out at one point, but he insisted my mom make sure she took us to church. So I only hope and pray that he had a good relationship with God, because it would be so nice to run into those loving arms I miss so dearly, the loving arms that were missing during both of my graduations and my wedding, the loving arms that were taken away from me way too soon.

I miss this man more than anything, and truly just thinking of how much I miss him brings me to tears almost instantly. Hold your loved ones close and make sure you let them know how important they are to you. You never know which instant will take them away.

Detective Teacher

Have you ever had to do anything crazy? Have you ever had a mystery as a teacher that you’ve had to figure out? Sometimes I wonder if I watch too many detective shows (CSI, Murdoch Mysteries, Bones, etc…). I’m always fascinated by the way detectives are able to figure things out. What is even more interesting is that Evidence and Investigation is also a unit in Grade 6 Science. So I’m able to share my fascination with my students.

While camping this week, I had a series of unfortunate events that caused me to practice some detective skills. And without sharing any specific names or details as to the people that were involved, here is the story:

Tuesday afternoon, we come back from afternoon field studies, and one of my students had lotion all over her sleeping bag. So I cleaned it off, and figured it was just a prank (doors to the cabins don’t lock the best).

Tuesday evening, when we returned from the evening activity, there was lotion on another student’s bed and blue handprints on our door. Then the 6 girls in my cabin started plotting ways to catch who it was. They were checking fingerprints, thinking of places to hide and catch them, etc… It was a JOB to get them to sleep that night.

Wednesday morning, I assumed nothing would happen during breakfast, but low and behold, there was toothpaste on a girl’s bed AND MY BED/PILLOW. I didn’t react though, because I had it dropped in my ear by that point that somebody thought one of my cabin girls was doing it, and I figured if it was, then reacting by anger would not get me the results I wanted. So I played it off like it was no big deal, and listened to the plans the girls told me I should do to figure it out (hiding on the top bunk, pretending to sleep during afternoon field studies, etc…).

We went to lunch, and of course came back to water on two of the girls’ beds. One soaking the sleeping bag, one just on the mattress. So I began thinking without telling the girls.

Once they left for afternoon field studies, I knew I had to hide somewhere that nobody had talked about, especially if it was one of my own girls. So I swept out the concrete floor the best I could (it’s so dirty), packed my large and small suitcase (it was packing day anyways so I figured it wouldn’t be suspicious), strategically placed them where I thought I would be most easily seen, and hid as close to the wall under the bed as I could. Throughout the hour and 15 minutes, my arm went numb, the floor was cold/dirty, but I knew I had to do what I could to catch whoever was doing this.

At one point, one of my girls ran in and was asking if I was in the room. So I whispered to her that I was under the bed (I knew it wasn’t this girl) and she told me she figured out that whoever did the blue handprints had to have gone to a certain field study that day because it’s the only place that had the blue chalk (the kids are divided up into study groups for the week and get through 2 stations a day). I told her thanks for figuring that out, and reminded her not to tell anyone where I was.

About 5 minutes after she left, the door opened again, and another one of the girls came in asking if anyone was there. She then jumped up on all of the bunk beds to check to see if I was hiding there (as they told me I should do). Thankfully, she didn’t think to check under the beds! I was basically holding my breath, I was so nervous she would see me. She then went over to her bag, took out one of her permanent markers, and wrote the word “STUPID” on her own mattress, and quickly ran out the door. I didn’t stop her in the act and instead waited to see what she did after she had left.

As I was getting out and saw what she had done, the girl that had originally come in to show me the chalk said that she had just seen the other girl leave, and wanted to know if anything happened. I quickly told her yes and showed it to her, and she came up with the brilliant idea of pretending that nobody had seen anything and going to tell her that something else had happened. And wouldn’t ya know, the girl who did it was like, “Something else happened? What happened?” And I just calmly smiled at her and told her she could go look if she wanted, and continued to walk over to where the other teacher from my school was to discuss how I should approach the whole situation.

I’m telling you, the things we, as teachers, have to do sometimes!

Do you have any interesting stories, any ways you’ve had to discover something going on in your classroom or on a trip? I would love to hear them! Leave your story in the comments below!