In my home there wasnt always food. My mother did what she could, yet sometimes the money didnt even stretch to a loaf. So almost every morning I arrived at school with an empty stomach and an empty backpack.
During recess I would pull out my math textbook and pretend to study, acting as if I were focused so that others would think I was diligent, not starving.
One day the new teacher came over and asked,
Why do you never eat at recess?
Nervous, I answered quickly,
I want to be the best student, sir. I prefer to use the time.
He stared at me and simply said,
I see
He walked away, and I believed hed bought my excuse. I kept studying while my belly growled as I watched my classmates eat.
A short while later the teacher returned carrying a cafeteria bag. He set it on my desk and, as if it were nothing, said,
I ordered too much and wont finish it. Take it, help me.
Inside were an oatmealbread roll, a juice box, and even a piece of fruita complete lunch. I nodded silently. The moment he left, I closed the book and began devouring the food with a desperation that felt like I hadnt tasted a bite in days.
I never told him the truth. I never admitted that the bread was the only thing I ate that whole day, nor that I had lied to avoid embarrassment.
Now, years later, I still remember that breakfastnot because of the oatmeal bread or the juice, but because someone recognized my need and didnt make me feel inferior. He helped without questions, without exposing me, without seeking any credit. He helped me with respect.
Since then I view things differently, having learned that some people dont need to ask much to do something meaningful.
