My second-grade teacher was Mrs. Hamburger. Her name provided us with endless mirth, and lame jokes were rampant. (Guess what we had for supper last night? Mrs. Hamburgers!)

My mother made arrangements with Mrs. H for a special activity. Mom brought an antique butter churn, a large jar of cream, and a loaf of homemade bread to our room. Class members took turns working the crank. When the butter was done, it was strained through cheesecloth and formed into a lovely clump.

We then had fresh bread slathered with the butter that we, ourselves, had just churned. It was the best thing I had ever tasted.

A couple of years ago, wanting to lose weight and improve my overall health, I decided to become a vegan. I was partly inspired by my son, Michael, who in his teenage years decided to go vegan for 12 months. And for a solid 12 months, he did it faithfully. When the rest of us were having pepperoni pizza and the house smelled richly Italian, he, with no complaint, would steam himself some vegetables, sprinkle them with a little salt, and eat them with as much pleasure as we did our crust-laden meat and cheese.

He’d been a vegetarian at the time he started, so perhaps the jump to veganism wasn’t so vast for him as it would be for me. But I figured if he could do 12 months, I could do 12 months.

Motivated by Mike’s stalwart example, I began my quest. Success, I knew, would depend on more than steamed veggies with a little salt. I would need rich-tasting, hardy meals that filled me up. Menus were collected, ingredients gathered, and John the Vegan came into existence.

I lasted a couple of months. What did me in was butter.

I bought vegan butter substitutes. I made my own vegan butter. I made vegan cheese-like sauces to replace butter. I tried every trick I could find. But the more I tried, the more I thought about churning butter in the second grade and how the taste of it became a life-long love.

One day my resistance faltered and I ate a serving of mashed potatoes with butter. Instantly the dreaded What-the-Heck Syndrome smacked me on the side of the head.

When we try to make changes, not just in diet, but in any aspect of our lives, as soon as we fall short of perfection, even just a little, we tend to say, “What the heck,” and give up entirely. That’s why New Year’s resolutions don’t last a week.

After I buttered my potatoes, I said what the heck, ate a hamburger in honor of Mrs. You-know-who, and gave up on being a vegan.

Since then I’ve been wishing I could muster the strength of Michael and have another go at veganism. I know I would feel stronger, healthier, and happier if I did. What I should do is say what the heck to the What-the-Heck Syndrome and be a near-vegan who butters his vegetables.