I've been reading these diaries on Feeding America, a series which is now apparently at its end -- and I decided to keep it going a few hours longer, if anyone cares to humor me. Because there's still time before Thanksgiving.
And because hunger sucks. It really, really sucks. I'm going to ramble a bit, as when I tell old history, I tend to ramble. You can also opt to just donate, and skip the diary. I don't really care. But if you need the Sally Struthers pitch -- for just 70 cents a day, you can make a difference! -- read on. I'm sorry if my story isn't tragic enough, but it is kind of amusing.
My father went to prison when I was 12 years old, in 1993. When I was 12, we were looking at welfare reform coming in a few years, and the rhetoric about 'welfare queens' ran high. The benefits we received were minimal, because the program had too many people on it to help. My mother suffered from undiagnosed bipolar disorder, and the concept of seeking employment gave her panic attacks -- there would never be a job in her future. My aunt down in New Jersey helped, as best she could. I don't know how much things cost back then, or how much money truly came in -- but I do know it wasn't spent foolishly. And it still wasn't enough.
The rent was always paid, top of the list, before anything else. We lived in Connecticut, and the idea of being homeless in the winter was scary. The gas couldn't be shut off in the winter, but the electricity could, and so that always got paid, too. The school always got their $2 a week for reduced price lunch, to make sure I got at least one meal a day. It was often the only meal I got, at least of any value.
Things fell apart slowly. What was at first a good stash of non-perishables and some meat in the freezer soon became just a stash of non-perishables. Then the milk went away, and got replaced by powdered. No more cheese. Staples became too expensive. Eventually, our food stamp money started buying more ramen than anything else. Stir in some margarine and they become more filling. Eat two packages for dinner. Vegetables? Fresh anything? What are these things?
I was the 'man of the house', so I had to provide. I got a job as a paperboy to help make ends meet. I'd get off school, and spend three hours delivering the afternoon daily to 250 homes in my neighborhood -- there were always some angry folks at the end of the route who didn't get their paper until 5 minutes before the 5 PM deadline. But that didn't work out as well as I'd like, mostly because the company did everything they could to take advantage of their underage employees. Looking back I probably didn't make half what I should have.
So naturally, working turned to more illegal activities. I'd go to the grocery store, and make off with things. Go in with $5 in food stamps, buy something, walk out with $50 in food stuffed into pants pockets or just down the pants themselves, coat pockets, inside the shirt -- wherever I could fit things. And I'll always remember the day that the store manager nabbed me. He started talking about how he was going to the cops. I just shrugged at him and apologized, and said I'd work if I was old enough, but that didn't change the fact I was hungry, and so was my mom.
So then I became the 'volunteer' at the store who helped old ladies put their groceries in their car, or onto the bus, for about 8-10 hours a week. And I still got what I needed every week, but I didn't have to steal it anymore -- I got to wheel it home in a shopping cart.
I lucked out really, compared to most people. I was smart enough to steal things and not get caught for a while. When I did get caught, I was lucky enough to find someone who cared more about my eating than about his sales, and so I didn't get thrown into juvenile detention or put on probation or whatever else -- he just took me at my word and put me to work. This story could have been more tragic. And for others, it is.
I'll always remember what it's like to be hungry, even now, as I skip meals because money's tight sometimes. But when I eat now, at least it's not ramen. Kraft Mac & Cheese at a minimum, not that store brand crap, man -- I have standards.
Send a donation, won't you? Some people aren't as inventive as me. Or they think stealing to feed yourself is wrong. They're probably right, but I didn't care much for right and wrong when my stomach was eating its lining.
My Thanksgiving that first year had chicken thighs in it. No turkey, not even a section of turkey. Freakin' chicken thighs -- and not many of 'em either. Give some poor bastard a turkey. Because no one should know Thanksgiving without turkey. Except vegans, and they all look like they're starving, anyway. They should eat more turkey, too.