Member-only story
How the Family Feeding Gene Was Handed Down to Me
My mother couldn’t sit by and see people, especially children, go hungry
It was sometime in the early 1960s. Mother was an elementary school teacher, and tomorrow was her end-of-year class trip. I went to a different school from hers, and to the best of my knowledge, if you didn’t bring or buy lunch, you didn’t get lunch.
“For our class trip, we had to bring our own lunch,” I told her, as I put together yet another sandwich and added it to the stack.
“Well,” Mother said, still spreading jelly, never breaking pace, “some of these children might not have lunch. I don’t want them to go hungry while others eat, or be embarrassed that they don’t have lunch. I told everybody I was bringing lunch, so everybody will have the same lunch.”
“What if somebody doesn’t like peanut butter and jelly?” my little sister, Patty, asked, wielding her own knife.
My mother stopped spreading, turned, and gave us The Look. “Then they don’t have to eat it. They can wait till they get home. Anyway, it’s possible someone might like two sandwiches…”
Mother knew her people. That afternoon she returned slightly sunburned with an empty bag.
