At the school where I work, a food drive is underway, and the hallways are lined with colorful bins decorated by kids, urging us to SCARE HUNGER with our donations for the local food bank. Naturally, I can’t resist peeking at the contents as I stroll by. Food is my guilty pleasure—no shame in that! So, I find myself drawn to those bins multiple times a day.
Wow, our school’s parents really know how to shop! The bins are overflowing with “fancy” items—organic snacks and gourmet ingredients that stray far from the usual mac and cheese and spaghetti. I spot rice pasta, artichoke hearts in seasoned oil, gluten-free crackers, olive tapenade…and yes, quinoa. I eye those bins like a cat watching a bird.
Earlier this week, while I was doing my usual stroll-by, one of the women who organized the drive was nearby, and I exclaimed, “Look at all this awesomeness!” She smiled brightly and said, “I know! The parents here are incredible.” Just then, another woman passed by, smiling and chiming in, “Too bad they won’t know what to do with most of it.”
That comment hit me like a ton of bricks. I was momentarily stunned, processing her words as if they were a puzzle piece that didn’t fit. “What do you mean?” I asked, needing to clarify if I had misheard.
She stopped and turned, folders in one hand, resting the other on her hip, still smiling. “Those people won’t know what most of that is. I mean, really—quinoa?”
Yep, I heard her right. Those people.
The last time I visited the food shelf was back in February, eight months ago. Thanks to some overdue child support from my ex, I finally could afford groceries again, which I’m incredibly thankful for. But those people—like me—who have faced the need for assistance know the struggle all too well.
I still remember the first time I drove into that parking lot, battling the urge to keep driving home to my empty fridge and bare cupboards. I whispered to myself, “I can’t do this,” until the desperation took over.
Once inside, it wasn’t as terrifying as I had imagined. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a party atmosphere, but it was manageable. Yes, I felt heat in my cheeks as I filled out paperwork detailing my life’s story and how I ended up there. But over time, I got used to it. The awkwardness faded, and I even found a sense of comfort in those walls.
Visiting food shelves is like shopping at TJ Maxx—it’s a gamble. Some days, the shelves are stocked with great finds: Annie’s Mac and Cheese, organic marinara, fresh veggies, and even Brie cheese just past its expiration date. Other days? Not so much—dented cans of creamed corn and questionable produce that even a culinary wizard couldn’t save. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers, right?
I went to the food shelf five times in eleven months. I confided in just one friend, but when I told my kids, I braced myself for laughter or anger. Instead, they quietly helped me unpack, occasionally commenting on what we scored: “Yum!” or “Gross!” I can still recall many meals made from those groceries—oven-roasted chicken, turkey chili, and yes, more mac and cheese than I’d like to admit. One of my favorites was an organic mushroom risotto.
I wanted to confront that woman in the hallway, to shake her and yell, “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE! YOU’VE NEVER HAD TO SWALLOW YOUR PRIDE AND ASK FOR HELP! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO LOOK AT YOUR KIDS AND FEEL YOUR HEART BREAK BECAUSE YOU CAN’T FEED THEM!” But instead, I could only say, “I like quinoa,” to which she replied, “Of course, you’re not one of those people.”
If only she knew.
For more insights on the journey of home insemination, check out our other post here. And if you’re curious about effective methods for self-insemination, visit Make a Mom for expert guidance. Additionally, Rmany offers excellent resources for pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary
This article recounts a personal experience about the misjudgments people make regarding those in need, particularly in a school food drive context. The author reflects on their own experiences with food assistance, emphasizing the dignity and gratitude of those who rely on food shelves, while confronting societal biases about economic status and food choices.