Lessons From The Food Bank

This time of year, it seems everyone is focusing on the blessings in his or her life, as well as giving warmth thoughts toward those less fortunate. In my own classroom, as well as in my son's first grade classroom, non-perishable food donations are being collected. Grocery stores have collection barrels for donations.

Most of us can be bothered to clean a can or two of food off our shelves and bring it to a donation spot. Many years ago, I would take the opportunity to get rid of the tomato sauce can which never got made into chili a few months ago, or the three cans of tuna which have been in the back corner of the pantry for a while. But that was BEFORE.

Take a moment to consider just who are those "less fortunate" people. Most think of the deadbeats, the welfare lovers and the users. In today's economy we might consider a few unemployed folks and give a can or two more. In the not-so-distant past, however, I learned the terrible truth: the less fortunate folks are like you and me. Especially me. Because I did have to make a withdrawal from a food bank.

We were living in Pennsylvania. He who calls me wife had been injured and was unable to work, then was fired. His disability claims had not yet been approved. I was working part-time. We had no money. We did have a baby, who needed diapers, milk, and food. We tried. We found money when we could. We did without a LOT. But then there came a time where the only thing emptier than the pantry was our bank account. My employer knew how hard we had it, and suggested the local food pantry. We resisted. And resisted. And resisted.

I am not a stranger to charity. My upbringing by a single mom meant empty cupboards and lots of making do. We were once anonymously gifted a box of food. We knew how to make welfare cheese blocks, butter, and powdered milk last. We joke to this day about the HUGE can of baked beans we had. I remember eating a bowl of Crispix from a huge box we were given, and wondered to myself why no one ever gives Lucky Charms to poor people.

So imagine my shame at facing a similar situation for my child. We made the appointment for the food bank. I could not bring myself to face it, and my wonderful husband visited alone with he who calls me mommy in tow for the first time. We were relieved to have food n the house, but hubby cried when he described his feelings about having been there. My heart broke.

The second month I went with him. My face hurt for the shame I was feeling. I was conscious of being overweight and in a food pantry. The way the workers tried to be friendly and courteous as they guided us through each section, telling us how many items we could choose. I felt like I didn't deserve to choose.

So the donations were what we got to choose from. Those cans of tuna came round to face me. Those expired cans of peaches you sent to your kid's classroom? That became my son's dinner.

So now it is AFTER and my opinions on food pantries, donations, and who goes to them are completely different. I will donate food I would actually want to eat. I will donate junk food like cake mixes or Lucky Charms. And I will pray over each thing, so that the shamed, desperate person who has sunk as low as they ever care to who receives it also is given hope and strength.

I do have more blessings than I could possible count. And I am thankful for having survived my time of poverty and desperation. And I am thankful that food pantries exist, and that the people who work in them are kind and understanding.

God bless us, every one.

Halloween on Fuddy Duddy Lane

Just got back from Trick-or-treating with the Clone Trooper that calls me Mommy. In the past few years that we have hit the neighbors up for sugary sustenance, we have had a good time. I know the houses that give out full-sized bars, those whose residents dress up and play scary music, the house that gives out religious tracts along with the Hershey bars. It is the one time of year that there is guaranteed fun with the neighbors.

Perhaps it is because the economy is so terrible. Perhaps it is because this year trick-or-treating is on a Saturday. But this year it seemed most people around our neighborhood were content to sit in their living room with the lights out and the TV on. We had trick-or-treating participation in maybe one out of every five houses. Pathetic.

The point is not that the wee one's load is lighter. Indeed, candy s the one thing our Clone Trooper does NOT need. The point is, that with all the repossessed houses around and the people out of work, the Halloween spirit has been seriously squelched. It is sad.

I remember my days of trick-or-treating and feeling momentarily disappointed in the dark houses. I wonder if my son will think back to tonight, when he stood looking in at a lit kitchen door knocking and how the residents just ignored him. But I will remember how others peeked out their dark windows as we passed by.

My street was the worst. Two blocks of NOTHING. If the porch lights were lit in the accepted sign of welcome, then the house was dark and unwelcoming. My annoyance came when we schlepped through puddles in the cold, holding hopes of friendly houses, only to be met with darkness and apathy too great to lead one to pick up a bag of tootsie rolls at the dollar store. Some houses had not even removed the two feet of leaves which covered their dangerously uneven sidewalks.

I hope trick-or-treating is not something my grandchildren will not ever do. I hope that the walls we build around ourselves will not go higher and stronger until we do not even know our next door neighbors.

On the plus side, we got plenty of Reese Cups right now so it's not all bad.

Baby Can...Understand the Tax Code

We've all seen it by now. Little Jacob, reading the word clap in his high chair and clapping. But don't worry, by the time Jacob is four he is playing piano, spelling Mozart, and reading about the Civil War. And you too can have a genius kid...providing you fork out the two hundred plus dollars for the Baby Can Read program.

Reading is one of the most important skills our children can learn. As an early childhood educator, I realize the brain power preschoolers possess and their inherent search for knowledge. While I am teaching that T makes the tuh sound, Jacob is reading Uncle Tom's Cabin. My question is, do we really need our four-year-olds to become super achievers?

How did we do it in years past? Without the flash cards and videos and computer games? We read to our children. We shared The Monster At The End Of This Book so many times we wished the monster would appear and eat us up so we wouldn't have to endure it one more time. But our kids learned about language, emotion, and how reading is fun, even if you know the ending. Do we really need flash cards with our infants, when Guess How Much I Love You board books exist?

The argument can be made that Baby Can Read time is the same kind of quality time one shares with the pages of a book. That the kids find it fun, not work, and do not feel pressured. That they are not just sight reading, but are comprehending. So maybe it isn't all bad.

I had a Baby Can Read program when I was a child. It was called SESAME STREET and later, ELECTRIC COMPANY. In half hour increments, I learned letter sounds, word blends, rhyming, and even some Spanish. I also got some social-emotional lessons, and music appreciation. And guess what...IT WAS FREE. And THEY ARE STILL ON!

So I take the infomercials with a grain of salt. Sure, you can potentially teach your fifteen-month-old to read War And Peace. But it isn't nearly as fun as reading Dr Seuss with silly voices.

The best part about the Baby Can Read infomercials? When little Annie or Amy or whatever her name is reads Charlotte's Web and says in her little girl way "dat's not-a niiiiice." I love to mimic that.

Gotta go read to my kid. Matthew ABC for about the thirteen thousandth time. I just love it.

Where a Kid Can Be...Ignored

Today marked the first birthday party of my son's first grade year. This is saying something, since school just started Tuesday and here it is Saturday. (The invitations came home THURSDAY. As in two days prior. Is she INSANE?) Anyway, so we picked out a present for a kid we don't know AT ALL and headed out to Chuck E's place. Since this schoolmate (and his family) are not known to us, the man he calls Daddy and I decided to hang around and lurk for the duration. I have had worse dates actually. At least there was pizza.

The first part of the party was a junior Vegas-style free-for-all, with kids cramming coins into machines and pulling out tickets. Kids had trails of tickets trailing behind them five feet long. Which (for someone who can't manage to roll a ball straight up the middle of a skeeball ramp TO SAVE MY LIFE) I found quite impressive. Then the child I call Son disappeared into plastic tubes mounted on the ceiling. I couldn't really see him except in small glimpses, and I looked nervously at the structure shaking around as the kids climbed through it. Then the voice from above (does she love her job that much or is that cheerfulness fake???) announced that it was time for the party to meet in the "showroom." So hubby and I got our own food and drink and tokens and proceeded to play the Spongebob roulette wheel six hundred and twelve times. I think we shouted WHEEEEEE on at least one occasion as I tried to pull the tickets out a bit harder than I needed to in order to get out an extra ticket or two. Please don't tell.

When I came up for air, I noticed a disturbing trend going on all around me. All over the crowded game room, I noticed very small children walking around unaccompanied. This became quite obvious as I watched a not-yet-or-just-barely two-year-old climb up the chicken wire cover on a soccer game. I kept waiting for some concerned adult to rush over and lift him down. When he was high enough to see the nice white skunk stripe I am growing on top of my head, I decided I would have to be that concerned adult. So I picked up the Spiderman wannabe and placed him on the ground, telling him that climbing here was not safe. I did not say GO FIND YOUR MOM AND TELL HER HOW YOU ALMOST KILLED YOURSELF! -- Even though I fully wanted to. But what was really scary is, even as I was picking this boy up and putting him on the ground, STILL no related adult came over.

In the two hours I was there, I watched AT LEAST three kids under three walking around on their own. One was upset and beginning to panic, as he had just realized his related adults had wondered off. (Hey kid, check the Spongebob game...it is SOOO addicting!) Even Son's best (girl)friend lost sight of her Dad and was verging on a breakdown when I got to her. Eventually we determined Dad was outside having a smoke. *sigh*

OK, so Chuck E Cheese advertises that parents can bring their kids in and can rest assured that their kids are safe. Indeed, they do have a stamping system in which no kid can leave with an adult he or she did not come in with. But once inside, whose responsibility is your child's safety? With due respect, there were several members of the Chuck E crew on the floor, but they were either retrieving lost coins, emptying coin slots, or delivering hot food, to watch the kids play.

Do the parents realize that I, A STRANGER, put my hands on their little boy, and talked to him with a voice intending to instill trust? Do you realize that I LED your daughter around by the hand, looking for a Chuck E crew member to hand her off to so they could find you piling your plate at the salad bar ignorant to the fact that YOUR kid is TERRIFIED and ALONE?

Worse case scenarios, people....the bathrooms are not monitored and ANYTHING could happen in there. There are sharp corners to crash into and little slots to cram little fingers into. There are bigger kids to push,mock, and rob yours. And an ominously swaying plastic structure overhead. So WATCH YOUR CHILDREN!

Granted, I am a worrywart and a bit of an overprotective parent. But God help me if my kid is running around a busy play center without his being aware of where I am and without my eyes watching, even from across the room. Chuck E Cheese is "where a kid can be a kid." Do you realize that 90% of the time THAT BOILS DOWN TO T-R-O-U-B-L-E?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Chuck E Cheeses is a fun place to go. and they do have a certain degree of security. But Chuck E is NOT YOUR BABYSITTER. Nor am I. But lucky for you, people do still care, even when you don't.