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ljgeoffA couple of weeks ago, a group of students, me included, met at Dr. Mohey Mowafy's home to share an incredible meal and discuss our potential presentations at NMU's Celebration of Student Scholarship. One of the students is thinking of doing a presentation on the UP's Food Pantry system.
I, of course, had to open my mouth -- "One of my girlfriends and I were going to put together a cookbook about cooking from the pantry," I said blithely, "but we never took the time to do it."
Ten sets of eyes pinned me, newly considering the significant bit of heel that was peeking jauntily out of my holey sock propped up on Mohey's coffee table, worn jeans and faded t-shirt. Then they fell over themselves with stories of how they contribute to the poor. "Whenever we bought new clothes, my Mother always made us take the old stuff to Vinnies," one perky 19 yr. old supplied. "You know, if we bought a pair of jeans, we'd donate a pair of jeans." She scrunched her nose, "Who needs twenty pairs of jeans?"
"That's a great philosophy," I smiled and nodded.
"Oh, yeah," another young woman chirped, "my Mom is, like, always giving food and stuff to the poor." She looked at me, uncertainly, "um.." not sure if she'd committed a horrible faux pas.
But I just sat there, nodding and smiling, saying "That's great!" or "What a good idea!" to every little story. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. "I take it that none of you have ever gone over and got a box of food from the pantry?"
There was an audible, collective, horrified gasp. By this time I was torn between trying to sink in between the sofa cushions and laughing maniacally. Sweet Jesus! I composed myself, stroking my fingertips over my lips and chin. "If you really want to know just a little bit of how it feels -- in your gut, eh? -- how it feels to be poor, you should go get in line for a food basket." Silence. They blinked. "You could always donate it back to some other Church or pantry. But if you really want to put yourself in their place, you should eat it." More blinks. "Ahhh, like a research project, hmm? If you feel bad about taking from the poor, you could donate the money that you'd normally spend that week on food."
And then I talked some more, about what it's like to go get food from the pantry, or present your food-stamps to the cashier at the register while the guy behind you checks out your fat ass. I don't think that it was anything that these kids had ever considered, and these were particularly bright kids. I know that they had a hard time parsing their previous respect for me and their new-found knowledge that I was poor; that I wear people's cast off clothes, sell my plasma so I can get a few luxuries, and am well acquainted with canned wax beans.
The student who is thinking of doing the Food Pantry presentation asked some very intelligent questions. Dr. Mowafy sat in the corner with that beatific smile he gets when people are sharing knowledge.
I don't know if I made any impact. I don't know if any of them will take me up on the "research project" idea. But there's a growing gulf between the haves and the havenots and a world of stereotypes filling up that gulf. I do not think that being poor is shameful. I don't think that it's a sign of failure, other than the failure to be born in my family instead of, say, theirs.
The shame would come of hiding my poverty, of keeping quiet and keeping my head down, of thinking that I deserved it in some hideously karmic way. My pride and my strength comes from knowing that I am fine, that my children and healthy, strong, creative and bright, that I have a place in the world, and that my life has meaning. Cast off clothes. *Piffle* How much worse is cast off ideas and world-worn hopelessness?
I, of course, had to open my mouth -- "One of my girlfriends and I were going to put together a cookbook about cooking from the pantry," I said blithely, "but we never took the time to do it."
Ten sets of eyes pinned me, newly considering the significant bit of heel that was peeking jauntily out of my holey sock propped up on Mohey's coffee table, worn jeans and faded t-shirt. Then they fell over themselves with stories of how they contribute to the poor. "Whenever we bought new clothes, my Mother always made us take the old stuff to Vinnies," one perky 19 yr. old supplied. "You know, if we bought a pair of jeans, we'd donate a pair of jeans." She scrunched her nose, "Who needs twenty pairs of jeans?"
"That's a great philosophy," I smiled and nodded.
"Oh, yeah," another young woman chirped, "my Mom is, like, always giving food and stuff to the poor." She looked at me, uncertainly, "um.." not sure if she'd committed a horrible faux pas.
But I just sat there, nodding and smiling, saying "That's great!" or "What a good idea!" to every little story. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. "I take it that none of you have ever gone over and got a box of food from the pantry?"
There was an audible, collective, horrified gasp. By this time I was torn between trying to sink in between the sofa cushions and laughing maniacally. Sweet Jesus! I composed myself, stroking my fingertips over my lips and chin. "If you really want to know just a little bit of how it feels -- in your gut, eh? -- how it feels to be poor, you should go get in line for a food basket." Silence. They blinked. "You could always donate it back to some other Church or pantry. But if you really want to put yourself in their place, you should eat it." More blinks. "Ahhh, like a research project, hmm? If you feel bad about taking from the poor, you could donate the money that you'd normally spend that week on food."
And then I talked some more, about what it's like to go get food from the pantry, or present your food-stamps to the cashier at the register while the guy behind you checks out your fat ass. I don't think that it was anything that these kids had ever considered, and these were particularly bright kids. I know that they had a hard time parsing their previous respect for me and their new-found knowledge that I was poor; that I wear people's cast off clothes, sell my plasma so I can get a few luxuries, and am well acquainted with canned wax beans.
The student who is thinking of doing the Food Pantry presentation asked some very intelligent questions. Dr. Mowafy sat in the corner with that beatific smile he gets when people are sharing knowledge.
I don't know if I made any impact. I don't know if any of them will take me up on the "research project" idea. But there's a growing gulf between the haves and the havenots and a world of stereotypes filling up that gulf. I do not think that being poor is shameful. I don't think that it's a sign of failure, other than the failure to be born in my family instead of, say, theirs.
The shame would come of hiding my poverty, of keeping quiet and keeping my head down, of thinking that I deserved it in some hideously karmic way. My pride and my strength comes from knowing that I am fine, that my children and healthy, strong, creative and bright, that I have a place in the world, and that my life has meaning. Cast off clothes. *Piffle* How much worse is cast off ideas and world-worn hopelessness?
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-02-28 06:03 pm (UTC)You did.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-02-28 06:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-02-28 07:46 pm (UTC)People make some bizarre assumptions. My mother-in-law told me once that her family was so poor when she was a teenager that she had to work a summer job to get a bicycle. My heart, as you can imagine, bled. Perhaps I should have explained one or two things to her...
(no subject)
Date: 2008-02-28 08:00 pm (UTC)One of my (many) fantasies, is to make a public access version of Iron Chef where we use actual food bank items to make a meal. And in the fantasy, I'd somehow squeeze the TV camera into my RV kitchen, for that authentic feel. (there might be a sterno or campstove sidebar for the kitchen-impaired.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-02-28 09:04 pm (UTC)Wow. So beautifully tied up at the end there. Yeah, your life has meaning beyond the clothes you wear and what you eat...which don't define you as a person anyways. Hah! Your last line there "...How much worse is cast off ideas and world-worn hopelessness?" really hit home with me and Toby! Truly, the mind is where it really matters. Cast-off ideas are embarassing, and truly no one will take you seriously if you do not generate your own.
I have to say this again. Damn you're a good writer. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that came straight out of a book. This is just another example of how you don't 'shoot off at the mouth' with writing; To me it seems like your writing is a river that you carve a path for it to run, nudge, and guide it into the shape and speed that you want it to flow (make large pools in certain areas to slow down the flow, for instance) until it reaches its end. (Technical writers, in my idea, freeze their waters, carve out a few blocks of ice, and put them in a tidy arrangement in a glass.)
Anyways, this was pleasure to read. I am glad that you were able to enlighten them somewhat. It feels sqidgy and disheartening even reading about their reactions! I'm sorry that you had to sit there, mouthing the all-too often platitude to assuage their discomfort. I think a lot of us have had to deal with similar issues throughout our lives; it is rather rare, anyways, for 'rich' people to mingle with 'poor' people. (Especially in England!) How interesting that they hadn't thought to 'try their hand' and being poor before. Heh. Most of us would be happy to try our hands at being rich for a day. Interesting to think about what being poor means. And rich. What you can, and can't do...hmm...
curious.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-02-29 12:42 am (UTC)I used to say that when I was a foreign grad student I was broke but not poor. But when I look at how that experience >10years ago is still affecting my reactions and decision making, I think I was probably poor.