There’s a food drive taking place at the school where I work, with several bins lined up in the hallways, adorned with charming decorations made by students, all urging us to “SCARE HUNGER” and contribute non-perishable items for the local food shelf. As is my habit, I find myself glancing at the donations as I pass by. Why? Because I love food—it’s like eye candy for me. So, I stroll by those bins multiple times a day, admiring the contributions.
Wow. Our school community is filled with some pretty sophisticated shoppers—these bins are brimming with upscale food items, from organic choices to intriguing alternatives to the usual mac and cheese or spaghetti. I spot rice pasta, marinated artichoke hearts, gluten-free crackers, olive tapenade…and, of course, quinoa. I eye those bins much like Sylvester eyeing Tweety Bird.
A Moment of Reflection
Earlier this week, as I strolled by, I noticed one of the organizers of the drive in the hallway and exclaimed, “Wow! Look at all this amazing stuff!” She smiled broadly and replied, “I know! The parents at this school are incredible.” Just then, another woman walked by. She offered a polite smile, typical for those who pass in the hall daily, and then said, “Too bad they won’t know what to do with most of it.”
It was one of those moments when your ears catch a remark that your brain struggles to comprehend. I was fairly certain I had heard her correctly, but it took a moment to process. Her words lingered in the air like a shimmering oil slick on a puddle.
I called out, “What do you mean?” I needed clarification, wanting to ensure I hadn’t misheard her. She paused, turning toward me, one hand clutching a couple of folders while the other rested on her hip, still grinning. “Those people won’t know what most of that is. I mean, really, quinoa?”
Yes, I had heard her right. Those people.
My Experience with the Food Shelf
The last time I utilized the local food shelf was in February. My ex’s long-overdue child support finally came through, and while it wasn’t substantial, it made the difference between purchasing groceries and relying on the food shelf. For that, I am grateful.
Those people.
I vividly remember my first visit to the food shelf. I had driven past countless times, battling my own hesitation to enter. I would mutter, “I can’t do this,” and continue on to my nearly empty fridge and bare cupboards. But eventually, desperation overshadowed my pride.
Those people.
Once you overcome the initial hurdle of stepping inside, visiting the food shelf isn’t so intimidating. It’s not a joyous experience that makes you want to sing and dance, but it’s manageable. Yes, there’s that flush of embarrassment as you fill out paperwork, sharing your life story with strangers and explaining how you found yourself in this situation. You learn to cope with the heat in your cheeks and the urge to avoid eye contact. Eventually, you might even find a sense of comfort there.
Those people.
I quickly discovered that food shelves are akin to a discount store—it’s a gamble. Some days, the shelves are stocked with excellent items like Annie’s Mac and Cheese, organic pasta sauce, fresh produce, and even whole chickens. Other days, you scramble to accumulate the necessary weight of food in your cart—dented cans of creamed corn, spoiled veggies that even a resourceful cook would struggle to salvage, and single sleeves of saltines. But, as they say, one can’t be choosy when in need.
Those people.
In about 11 months, I visited the food shelf five times. I confided in just one friend about it. When I told my kids, I braced myself for laughter, anger, or embarrassment. Instead, they helped me put the groceries away, quietly offering the occasional “Yum!” or “Gross!” I can recall many meals I prepared with those food shelf essentials—oven-roasted chicken with rosemary potatoes, turkey chili, French toast, and more mac and cheese than I’d care to admit. One standout was an organic mushroom and olive oil risotto.
Those people.
A Call for Understanding
I felt an urge to confront that woman in the hallway, to knock the folders from her hands, shake her shoulders, and shout, “YOU CLUELESS, PRETENTIOUS PERSON! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT’S LIKE TO WALK INTO ONE OF ‘THOSE’ PLACES AND BE ONE OF ‘THOSE’ PEOPLE! YOU’VE NEVER HAD TO SWALLOW YOUR PRIDE AND ADMIT YOU NEED HELP! YOU’VE NEVER LOOKED AT YOUR CHILDREN AND HIDDEN YOUR TEARS BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT SURE HOW TO FEED THEM! YOU KNOW WHAT? ‘THOSE PEOPLE’ WILL BE GRATEFUL TO SEE THIS FOOD. THEY’LL SAY SILENT PRAYERS AS THEY PACK IT UP AND TAKE IT HOME TO FEED THEIR FAMILIES. THEY WILL NEVER FORGET HOW IT FEELS TO BE THANKFUL FOR SOMETHING AS SIMPLE AS FOOD!”
But all I managed was, “I like quinoa.” To which she replied, “Well yes, of course. You’re not one of those people.”
If only she understood.
Further Reading
For more insights into navigating the journey of parenthood, check out our post on the at-home insemination kit. And for a comprehensive look at treatment success rates by age, visit this site, an authoritative source on the subject. Additionally, if you’re looking for resources related to pregnancy and home insemination, News Medical is an excellent platform.
Conclusion
In summary, the experience of visiting a food shelf can be both humbling and revealing, showcasing the disparities in perceptions and realities of those in need. It’s essential to recognize that everyone may have different experiences and that gratitude can come from unexpected places.