At the school where I work, there’s a food drive underway. Colorful bins have been placed in the hallways, adorned with charming signs created by the kids, urging us to SCARE HUNGER and contribute non-perishable items to support the local food pantry.
As is my habit, I find myself peeking into the bins as I pass by. Why? Because I genuinely enjoy food—it’s like eye candy for me. I wish I were exaggerating. So, multiple times a day, I admire the donations.
Wow. We have some pretty impressive grocery shoppers at our school. The bins are brimming with “gourmet” items, a plethora of organic selections, and some intriguing alternatives to the usual mac and cheese or pasta. There’s rice pasta, marinated artichoke hearts, gluten-free crackers, olive tapenade… and yes, quinoa. I gaze at those bins as intently as Sylvester eyed Tweety Bird.
Earlier this week, while checking out the bins, I noticed one of the women who helped organize the drive nearby. I exclaimed, “Wow! Look at all this amazing stuff!” She smiled brightly and replied, “I know! The parents here are incredible.”
Just then, another woman strolled past us, offering a polite smile, and then chimed in: “Too bad they won’t know what to do with most of it.”
In that moment, my ears registered her words, but my brain struggled to comprehend. I was fairly certain I’d heard correctly, but it didn’t sink in right away. It lingered like a thin film of oil on a puddle.
I found the courage to ask, “What do you mean?” I needed to clarify her statement, to ensure I hadn’t misheard.
She paused, turned towards me, one hand clutching some manila folders, the other resting casually on her hip, still smiling. “Those people won’t know what most of that is. I mean, really, quinoa?”
Yup. I had heard her right. “Those people.”
The last time I visited our local food pantry was back in February. After a long wait for overdue child support from my ex, I could finally afford groceries instead of relying on the pantry. For that, I am truly thankful.
I still remember the first time I stepped into a food shelf. I had driven by countless times, trying to muster the courage to pull into the lot. I’d whisper to myself, “I can’t do this,” and instead drive home to my empty fridge and barren cupboards. But eventually, desperation trumped pride.
Once you conquer the toughest hurdle—walking through the door—being at the food shelf isn’t so bad. It’s not exactly a joyous experience, but it’s manageable. Sure, there’s that flush of embarrassment while filling out paperwork, revealing your life story to strangers. You share how you ended up in this situation, detailing your financial struggles. But you adapt. You learn to avoid too much eye contact and, believe it or not, you can even find comfort in the food shelf environment.
Much like a trip to TJ Maxx, the inventory at food shelves can vary widely. Some days, the shelves are stocked with fantastic items—Annie’s Mac and Cheese, organic marinara, fresh veggies, whole chickens. Other times, you might find yourself rummaging through dented cans of corn or questionable produce. But, hey, when you’re in need, you can’t be picky.
I visited the food shelf five times over about eleven months. I confided in only one friend about it. When I told my kids, I expected laughter or anger, but they simply helped me unpack the groceries with quiet acceptance, occasionally commenting “Yum!” or “Gross!” I can vividly recall most meals I created from those shelf goodies—oven-roasted chicken, turkey chili, and more mac and cheese than I want to admit. One standout was an organic risotto, rich with mushrooms and olive oil.
In that hallway, I wanted to confront the woman who made that remark. I wanted to shake her and shout, “YOU HAVE NO IDEA what it’s like to step into one of ‘THOSE’ places! You’ve never had to swallow your pride and ask for help! You’ve never looked at your kids and hidden tears because you couldn’t feed them! ‘THOSE PEOPLE’ will be eternally grateful for this food. They’ll say silent prayers as they take it home to their families. They’ll remember the gratitude for something as basic as food!”
But instead, all I managed to say was, “I like quinoa.”
To which she responded, “Well yes, of course. You’re not one of those people.” If only she knew.
This article was originally published on November 2, 2014.
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In summary, the stigma surrounding food shelves and the assumptions about who uses them is often misguided. Many individuals, including those who enjoy quinoa and other gourmet foods, find themselves relying on these resources during difficult times. The experience can be humbling, but it also highlights the gratitude felt for every meal, no matter how simple.
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