At the school where I work, a food drive is underway. Colorful bins adorned with children’s art are scattered throughout the hallways, encouraging everyone to contribute non-perishable items for the community food shelf.
As is my habit, I take a moment to glance at the donations as I pass by. Why? Because I have a passion for food. It’s like a guilty pleasure for me. I find myself strolling by those bins several times a day, admiring the offerings.
Wow. Our school community has some seriously upscale grocery shoppers. The bins are overflowing with “gourmet” items—lots of organic choices and an assortment of products that deviate from the usual mac and cheese and spaghetti. There’s rice pasta, marinated artichoke hearts, gluten-free crackers, olive tapenade… and yes, quinoa. I scrutinize those donations much like Sylvester eyed Tweety Bird.
Earlier this week, as I was checking out the bins, a woman who helped organize the drive was nearby. I called out to her, “Look at all this fantastic stuff!” She lit up, replying, “I know! The parents here are incredible.”
Just then, another woman walked past, smiled at us, and casually remarked, “Too bad most of them won’t know what to do with it.”
It was one of those moments where your ears process something but your mind struggles to grasp it. I was convinced I heard her correctly, but it didn’t quite register. It lingered, like an oily sheen on a puddle.
I couldn’t help but ask, “What do you mean?” I needed clarification to ensure I hadn’t misinterpreted her words.
She paused, turned towards me with a couple of manila folders in one hand and her other hand resting on her hip. Still smiling, she said, “Those folks won’t know what most of this is. I mean, really, quinoa?”
Yep. I had heard her right.
Those individuals.
The last time I visited our local food shelf was in February. Eight months ago. I had finally received some overdue child support from my ex, which, while not much, was enough to make the difference between purchasing groceries and relying on a food shelf. For that, I am thankful.
Those individuals.
I vividly remember my first trip to the food shelf. I had driven by countless times, mustering the courage to pull into the lot. I’d whisper to myself, “I can’t do this,” and drive on, returning home to an empty fridge and bare cupboards. Until desperation overshadowed my pride.
Those individuals.
Once you conquer the hardest part—walking through the door—the food shelf experience isn’t so daunting. It’s not exactly a joyful occasion, but it’s manageable. Yes, there’s that flush of embarrassment when filling out paperwork, sharing your life story with strangers. But you adapt to the discomfort, learning to avoid direct eye contact. Eventually, you find a strange sense of comfort in the food shelf environment.
Those individuals.
I soon discovered food shelves can be unpredictable, much like a discount store. Some days, the shelves are stocked with excellent items: Annie’s Mac and Cheese, organic marinara, fresh produce, whole chickens in the freezer, and even slightly expired brie from Trader Joe’s. Other times, you’re left scrambling to meet the required weight limit for your cart. You might find dented cans of creamed corn, spoiled produce, and single sleeves of saltines. But, as we know, beggars can’t be choosers.
Those individuals.
In about 11 months, I visited the food shelf five times. I confided in only one friend about it. When I told my kids, I expected laughter, anger, or embarrassment. Instead, they quietly helped me unpack the groceries, occasionally exclaiming “Yum!” or “Gross!” I can easily recall many meals I prepared with food shelf items, like oven-roasted chicken with rosemary potatoes, turkey chili, and even more mac and cheese than I’d like to admit. One of my favorites was an organic mushroom risotto, drizzled with olive oil.
Those individuals.
I felt an overwhelming urge to confront that woman in the hallway, to knock the folders out of her hands. I wanted to shake her and shout, “YOU CLUELESS, PRETENTIOUS INDIVIDUAL! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT’S LIKE TO WALK INTO ‘THOSE’ PLACES AND BE ONE OF ‘THOSE’ INDIVIDUALS! YOU’VE NEVER HAD TO SWALLOW YOUR PRIDE AND ADMIT YOU NEED HELP! YOU’VE NEVER HAD TO HIDE YOUR TEARS FROM YOUR KIDS BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO FEED THEM! YOU KNOW WHAT? ‘THOSE INDIVIDUALS’ WILL BE GRATEFUL FOR THIS FOOD. THEY’LL SAY SILENT PRAYERS AS THEY PACK IT UP AND TAKE IT HOME TO SHARE WITH THEIR FAMILIES. AND THEY WILL NEVER FORGET HOW IT FEELS TO BE THANKFUL FOR SOMETHING AS SIMPLE AS FOOD!”
But all I could manage was, “I like quinoa.”
Her response? “Of course, you do. You’re not one of those individuals.”
If only she knew.
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Summary:
The article reflects on a food drive at a school and the misconceptions surrounding those who rely on food shelves. The author shares personal experiences, highlighting the stigma associated with needing assistance and the unexpected quality of donations. Through the narrative, it challenges the stereotypes of those in need, emphasizing the gratitude and resilience of individuals who utilize food resources.