At my workplace, a food drive is currently underway, with colorful bins lining the hallways and adorable signs urging us to SCARE HUNGER by donating non-perishable items for the local food pantry. As is my habit, I find myself glancing at the donations as I pass by. Why? Because I have a deep appreciation for food. Honestly, it’s like a guilty pleasure. So, I stroll by several times a day, admiring the contributions.
Wow, it seems we have some pretty upscale grocery shoppers at our school. The bins are brimming with “fancy” food items—plenty of organic choices, and a distinct departure from the usual mac and cheese and spaghetti. There’s rice pasta, artichoke hearts in seasoned oil, gluten-free crackers, olive tapenade… and quinoa. I gaze at those bins like a kid seeing a candy store for the first time.
Earlier this week, as I passed by, I noticed one of the organizers of the drive and exclaimed, “Look at all this amazing food!” She smiled and replied, “I know! The parents here are incredible.” Just then, another woman walked by, grinning as familiar faces do, and remarked, “Too bad they won’t know what to do with most of it.”
In that moment, my ears registered her words, but my mind struggled to comprehend their meaning. I was pretty sure I’d heard her correctly, but it didn’t quite click. I found myself wanting to confirm her statement, to ensure I hadn’t misheard. “What do you mean?” I asked, hoping to clarify.
She paused, turning toward me, one hand holding a couple of folders while her other rested on her hip, still smiling. “Those families won’t know what most of that is. I mean, really, quinoa?”
Yep, I had heard her right. Those families.
The last time I visited our local food pantry was in February. Eight months ago, a long-overdue child support payment came through, allowing me the relief of buying groceries instead of relying on the pantry. For that, I feel grateful.
I can still vividly recall my first visit to the food pantry. I had driven by countless times, trying to muster the courage to pull in. My inner dialogue was a constant struggle: “I can’t do this,” I’d whisper to myself, continuing on to my empty fridge and bare cupboards. But eventually, desperation won out over pride.
Once you manage to take that first step through the door, being at the food pantry isn’t as daunting as it seems. Sure, it doesn’t inspire spontaneous joy, but it’s not as terrible as one might expect. Yes, there’s a flush of embarrassment as you fill out paperwork, sharing your life story with strangers, explaining how you ended up in this situation. You get used to those flushed cheeks and learn to avoid too much eye contact. Eventually, you find a sense of comfort in the environment.
Food pantries are a bit like treasure hunts—it’s hit or miss. Some days, the shelves are stocked with great finds: Annie’s Mac and Cheese, organic marinara sauce, fresh vegetables, whole chickens in the freezer, and even a wheel of brie from Trader Joe’s that’s just past its expiration date. Other days, it’s a scramble to gather the required amount of food for your family—dented cans of creamed corn, spoiled produce, or individual sleeves of saltine crackers. But when you’re in need, you learn that you can’t be choosy.
I visited the pantry five times in about 11 months, and I only confided in one friend about it. When I shared this with my kids, I anticipated their laughter or anger, or perhaps embarrassment. Instead, they quietly helped me put the groceries away, occasionally commenting on what they thought was “Yum!” or “Gross!” I can still recall many meals made from pantry items: oven-roasted chicken with rosemary potatoes, hearty turkey chili, and an abundance of mac and cheese. One of my favorites was an organic risotto, infused with mushrooms and olive oil.
I wanted to confront that woman in the hallway, to shake her and express my frustration: “YOU HAVE NO IDEA what it’s like to walk into one of ‘THOSE’ places! You’ve never had to swallow your pride and admit you need help! You can’t understand the tears that come from looking at your kids when you’re unsure how to feed them! ‘Those families’ will be grateful for this food. They’ll be offering silent prayers as they pack it up and take it home, cherishing something as simple as a meal!”
But instead, all I managed to say was, “I like quinoa.” To which she responded, “Of course, you do. You’re not one of those families.”
If only she truly understood.
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Summary
The author reflects on a food drive at her workplace, sharing her experiences with food pantries and the misconceptions about those who rely on them. Through her personal journey, she highlights the importance of compassion and understanding towards families in need, ultimately expressing gratitude for the support received.