Food, Glorious Food

There is a line in one of the opening scenes from The Glass Castle where Jeanette is wrapping up a dinner with important clients.  The waiter asks if she wants her food to go and she says, ” Yes, and I’ll have hers wrapped up as well,” eyeing her clients half eaten plate.  Her fiancé quickly says, “She’s just kidding!”,  to which Jeanette replies, “No I’m not, I never joke about food.”

One of the strongest impressions from my childhood is the constant presence of hunger.  The dynamic of poverty is complicated.  It is a circumstance that is part systematic and part psychosomatic, and probably other parts I don’t know about too.  Both of these need to change for that circumstance to truly improve, but when you are just a kid, you have control of neither.  It’s not that we never had food in our house, it just wasn’t consistent, and my body wanted to consistently eat.  When we were in elementary school, we could have those teeny tiny bowls of cereal at school in the morning with milk.  That would only  hold us over until about 9:30 am but it was better than nothing.  I remember my cafeteria in Mineola had posters of athletes up on the wall and Mary Lou Retton would peer down at me reminding me to eat my Wheaties.  I never much cared for that cereal and I never became an athlete either, but I ate whatever was put in front of me, if just to end the growling in my stomach.

We also  had “free lunch” coupons available to us at school.  When the new little yellow booklets came out, Ms. Hogan would help me sign my name to each one of those precious golden tickets that ensured my next meal.  At home it was a sporadic rotating menu of Denty Moore beef stew, Hormel Chicken pot pies, hot dogs, and ramen noodle soup.  In third grade our pediatrician had my mother leave the room. “Honey, does your mother feed you at home?” he asked, looking over at the nurse as they silently navigated this delicate territory together.  “Yes, sometimes, when we have food she does,” I answered as honestly as I knew how.  Later, I heard him telling my mother that my sister and I were grossly underweight.  He, or somebody, enrolled us in a government program shortly thereafter where a huge block of cheese, a giant tub of peanut butter, and containers of powdered milk, would get delivered to our house.  We were like little mice, the way we ate off chunk after chunk of that block of cheese, never quite able to finish the whole block before the mold got to it.

It was an absolute gift when somebody from our church or the Salvation Army would invite us over for a holiday meal, or bring us a bag of groceries.  I would fill up on turkey and mashed potatoes and green olives, and just the sensation of having a full belly of nutritious food felt so good.  I never want my kids to know the kind of hunger I experienced as a child and into my teen years, because it was more than just the pains of an empty stomach; it was like a knowing that the very ground I stood on was shaky and unstable and could fall away at any moment.  And now, part of that poverty mentality stays with me, and the compulsion to make extra food, or bring every last leftover home from a restaurant, or buy double or triple of everything, just in case, even when having money for food hasn’t been a problem for years, is still so strong inside of me it drives my behavior like an auto pilot that kicks on when one of my poverty buttons are triggered.

So these two thoughts are where I will end.  First,  through whatever institution, whether church, government, or good old fashioned friendship, I’m thankful for the food we were given as children.  I love love food to this day, and have had to try to appreciate quality and not quantity during my mealtimes, or this girl could have some pretty serious health issues.  Food is never far from my mind, even this many years later, I don’t miss a meal, and I don’t waste food.  But as a child, food was a basic necessity for a successful day of learning, a sense of wellbeing and nourishment for propper growth and development, and it was a link to the humanity of others who took responsibility for children who were not their own.  So keep your eyes open for children or families in need, especially as we enter this holiday season, because it’s a kindness and a relief that is so needed and not quickly forgotten.

Lastly,  weather it’s poverty, abuse, unhealthy expectations or any other system you were caught up in during your childhood, it’s always a good idea to ask yourself why you are still motivated to continue with certain patterns of behaviors or mindsets that maybe should have been improved or relinquished long ago.  Do you over- spend on trivial things now because you didn’t have enough growing up; Do you run your relationships with stern command, always having the last word, because you didn’t have a valued voice when you were little;  Maybe you make decisions out of fear because you weren’t protected;  Or possibly you are a work-a-holic because you are determined to find the worth, validation, and opportunity you ached for as a kid and didn’t receive. Spending a little time in self reflection can do the body and mind so good, and when we understand the “why” of our behavior, it’s easier to change the “how” of our behavior.

I thank God for his provision in my childhood.  I am thankful for all the people who gave or donated, cooked or baked, invited or delivered.  I am thankful for the lessons hunger taught me and the awareness it awoke in me.  And I am thankful for the continued growth in my spirit as I reflect on the stories of where I’ve been to where I’ve come.

Galatians 6:10   So then, as we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith.