In my house, there wasnt always food on the table. My mum did her best, but sometimes there wasnt even enough for a loaf of bread. Most days, Id trudge to school with an empty stomach and nothing in my bag.
At break time, Id pull out my maths book and pretend to study, burying my nose in the pages to seem studiousnot starving.
One day, the new teacher wandered over and asked, Why dont you ever eat at break?
Nervous, I blurted, I just want to be top of the class, sir. Better use the time wisely.
He studied me a moment, then nodded. Right. I see.
Off he went, and I thought hed bought the lie. So I kept up the act, stomach growling as I watched the others eat their crisps and sandwiches.
Before long, he was back, dropping a paper bag from the canteen onto my desk. Ordered too much, he muttered. Help me out, yeah?
Insidean oat roll, a carton of juice, even an apple. A proper packed lunch.
I nodded, silent. The second he turned away, I snapped my book shut and wolfed it down like I hadnt eaten in weeks.
Never told him. Never said that roll was all I ate the whole day. Never admitted Id lied to save face.
Years later, I still remember that meal. Not for the roll or the juice, but because someone saw the need and never made it small. No questions, no fuss, no pat on the backjust help, quiet and kind.
After that, I saw him differently. Some people dont need the whole story to do something good.
