My Apologies—I’m a Vegetarian
In last week’s Coffee Table column, I wrote about the acute discomfort I felt when a complete stranger questioned me about my religion while I was disposing of my cans and bottles at a rather remote recycling center. My comments included the following statement: “A person who wears his religion on his sleeve seems suspect to me, like he has to keep his faith in plain view where he can monitor it to be sure it doesn’t escape his grasp.”
I fear I might have stepped on some toes and would like to offer, if not a retraction, at least an explanation.
It was my daughter who brought the problem to my attention. She took issue with my statement, citing instances where people—including herself—wear symbols of their religion on a daily basis, such as necklaces, bracelets, or religious head gear. These, she felt, were examples of people wearing their religion on their sleeve(s). I assured her that was not what I had in mind, and after some discussion, we concluded I’d made an error, but it was semantic rather than philosophical.
So, to all those who interpreted my statement the way my daughter initially did, I humbly apologize. I will try to choose my words more carefully in the future.
I am not offended by a Muslim woman’s hijab or a Sikh man’s turban. A Jewish man wearing a yarmulke, or his married female counterpart wrapping her hair in a tichel does not make me nervous in the least.
In Carroll County, Christian symbols abound: Slogans on t-shirts, rhinestone crosses on blue jean pockets, and Jesus fish magnets on cars. If I was to take offense each time I saw such a symbol, I’d be perennially grouchy. But I’m at ease most of the time.
I am offended when publicly funded municipal institutions flaunt one religious symbol over another—such as a city hall boldly displaying the ten commandments, or public school teachers proudly posting Christian symbols in their classrooms, without regard for how such presentations might feel to a citizen who is not Christian.
But, in general, I have no problem with folks wearing religious symbols, and such displays were not at all what I was thinking when I wrote the aforementioned statement. The man who made me nervous at the recycling center wasn’t wearing any obvious emblems of Christianity. It was his verbal insistence that being a Christian was of ultimate importance—and my consequent fear that if he thought I was not a Christian, he might become aggressive.
My column last week also gave some examples of answers to the question “Are you a Christian woman?” I was trying to demonstrate how the wrong answer could potentially ignite a violent reaction. It might not be safe to say, “No, I’m Jewish.” Or, “No, I’m Muslim.”
But my daughter brilliantly latched onto the non-sequitur response: “No, I’m vegetarian,” and proclaimed this a most useful answer to a wide variety of uncomfortable questions:
Are you a Christian woman?’’
No, I’m a vegetarian.
Are you a Democrat/Republican?
No, I’m a vegetarian.
Do you make a lot of money?
No, I’m a vegetarian.
Are you married?
No, I’m a vegetarian.
Are you wearing thong panties?
No, I’m a vegetarian.
It might just throw your interrogator off balance long enough to make your getaway.