Full disclosure: I love to eat meat. I was born in Memphis, the barbecue capital of the Milky Way Galaxy. I worship slow-cooked, hickory-smoked pig meat served on a bun with extra sauce and coleslaw spooned on top.
My carnivore's lust goes beyond the DNA level. It's in my soul. Even the cruelty of factory farming doesn't temper my desire, I'll admit. Like most Americans, I can somehow keep at bay all thoughts of what happened to the meat prior to the plate.
So why in the world am I a dedicated vegetarian? Why is meat, including sumptuous pork, a complete stranger to my fork at home and away? The answer is simple: I have an 11-year-old son whose future--like yours and mine--is rapidly unraveling due to global warming. And what we put on our plates can directly accelerate or decelerate the heating trend.