“Even though the food is bad, I really like McDonald’s,” my son explained.
“Why is that, son?” my husband asked. He expected to hear something about indoor play places or ice cream. Instead, my soon-to-be five year old continued, “Well, I think it’s special.”
“But they’re not special,” I interrupted. “Every McDonald’s is exactly the same. They all look the same, make the same foods. There is nothing special or unique about them.”
“The really special food is the food Mommy cooks for you,” my husband contributed.
“What makes it special?”
“All the love that goes into it. The food Mommy makes is full of love every step of the way — from the way the vegetables and animals were cared for and raised, to the way the animals were killed and turned into meats, to the way Mommy bought them and turned them into meals. But the food at McDonald’s, there’s no love in that food.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, maybe there’s love in the heart of the person buying it for you, like Granna or Grandad. But there’s no love in how the animals were raised or how the food was prepared.”
“What happens if there’s no love in the food? Can you eat it?”
“Well, you can eat it. But if all you ever ate was food without love, a little piece of you would die. You’d suffer in a world with just a little bit less love in it, and that’d be sad.”
“I don’t want to be sad.”
“Neither do I.”