It has been my experience that there are three kinds of hunger; the strong desire to achieve or overcome that propels you forward, the endless curiosity and wonder, that thirst for knowledge that drives you to dig deeper, and search wider and then there is hunger for the simple lack of food that nourishes your mind, body, heart and soul. In my lifetime, I have known each one.
As I travel this Thanksgiving week to be with my west coast family, enjoy a complete meal for a change and appreciate the deep and emotional connections we have, I am also aware that due to current circumstances, a great many more people know the physical kind of hunger; food banks are struggling to serve their communities and a great many will go to bed tonight and every night that follows without food for themselves and for their families.
Growing up poor and with seven mouths to feed, my father would only go food shopping once per week. When something was gone, it stayed gone until the next grocery run, no exceptions. Having two young brothers, “growing boys”, they ate quite a lot and were always the first ones to the table, not thinking about anyone else but focused on quelling their own hunger. Our family did eat, every day the same cheap fare, so it wasn’t that we went hungry, at that time it was more that we learned to do without. Later, when I left home at 18 and began a series of moves, I would come to know hunger very intimately, both as witness and participant.
The first place I stayed, after leaving my childhood home, was a rented room in the home of my girlfriend and co-worker, who told me I would be helping her out tremendously even though I had little to give at that time, but gave it nonetheless. Her home was in dismal condition, she, barely making ends meet due to an ex husband who refused to pay child support or anything else. The windows were broken, sometimes oil for heating ran out in the middle of a very cold winter’s night and there were a whole lot of other things that needed attention. But her attention was kept on taking care of her two sons and when there was no food to be had between paychecks, I would stand by her in silence, in witness to her anguish and guilt while she fried a single piece of bread for each boy, to feed them for dinner. After some time and as a last resort, she asked me to go with her to apply for food stamps. I have never forgotten the look on her face and the defeat in her eyes when they denied her. And on the way home it was the only time during all of this that I saw her break down completely, me crying with her.
Later, through my twenties, I was in another rented room in another town, working a full time job and putting myself through college at night. I knew that in order for me to survive I would need to get a better job, one that would sustain at least my basic necessities. However, once all of my bills were paid and there was gas in my car, I would not have anything left except $1.00, which I made sure to always keep in my wallet, a quart of skim milk and a box of ½ dozen Entenmann’s corn muffins, which I got for free, in the fridge for the week. And when that was gone, there were no replacements until next pay day when I could buy the milk and receive the free corn muffins. I was hungry every day, and went to bed carrying that pain every night but due to my late nights of homework and studying after I got home from class, the exhaustion won over as the greater force and I was spared laying in my bed listening to the sounds of the emptiness emanating from within; a reprieve until the next morning when I awoke to relive it all again. I remember making a promise to myself that if anyone ever asked me on a date, it would have to be dinner; I needed to be fed, I wanted to be fed. Unfortunately, those invitations did not come but I allowed myself to fantasize about them now and then. And even though it was a most challenging time for me and I learned to endure the constant hollowness in my body and the pain that goes along with it, I don’t think I realized the enormity or the impact that toll would take until much later when I had the courage to look back.
Getting through those years to a college degree, a better job and more than $1.00 in my wallet between paychecks, I will never forget the feeling I experienced when, for the first time, I was on my way to a grocery store and knew that I could actually buy any food I wanted, within reason, of course. It was a defining and very liberating experience, one where I stopped at the entrance and took a deep breath and exhaled. However, you do not move from a long period of time without subsistence that feeds more than your physical body and escape the residual impact that continues to be a constant companion years later. Although I am a number of worlds away from that now, have I actually slayed that dragon? Not in its entirety, but we have developed a deep understanding and mutual respect of the other.
And so on the precipice of this day of Thanksgiving, I hold gratitude for all of the blessings that have been bestowed upon me and for the blessing to give back for all of those who know the hunger I have known and who now feel the pain and emptiness that I have felt. So before I step into that dining room and take my seat at this bountiful table, before the menu is set, the groceries are purchased, the cooking begins and the house is filled with the most warm and comforting aromas, way before the planning begins and the invites go out, I always return to those hunger years and remember.
And so I ask this simple request going into this holiday season; instead of gracing Amazon with your Christmas list and wallet, please contribute to your local food banks/pantries with your time, food donation and/or money. Giving someone the gift of food so that they do not know hunger for even just one day will do more for their entire being than you will ever know. Unless of course you have traveled that same road.
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