"You know, dad, a vegtrinarian. Somebody who doesn't eat meat. Like my friend Maya in school." A second grade vegetarian. Welcome to Seattle.

At this point, the lightbulb I had successfully kept safely switched in the "off" position for so many years for both of my children flipped. My 4 year old looked up from her plate with that gaze that kids get when they find out Bambi's mother died, "Am I eating a chicken?!" she squawked. Here we go.

I tried to explain that since the beginning of time people have eaten animals. That's why we give thanks before meals -- to the animal and it's creator for sustaining us. I also told them that eating only vegetables was perfectly fine. (I must admit that for a moment I seriously considered pushing the vegetarian philosophy, if only to get my two little McNuggets to start eating a foreign substance called broccoli.) But Bambi & friends were still stuck on the farm. "Do they shoot the chickens?" my little one asked.

"Who wants dessert!!!" I responded, not about to get into the whole messy truth about slaughterhouses.

By the end of dinner I had one vegtrinarian convert on my hands, another one still undecided. "Dad, what's pork made out of?" asked the skeptic. "Oh, nevermind," she said. "It's made out of pork chops, so that's okay."

I'll fight that battle another day. For now, pass the broccoli.