In my home there wasnt always food. My mother did what she could, but sometimes the money didnt even stretch to a single loaf. So most days I arrived at school with an empty stomach and nothing in my bag.
During recess I would pull out my math book and pretend to study, acting as if I were diligent so nobody would notice my hunger.
One day the new teacher approached me and asked,
Why dont you ever eat at recess?
Nervously, I replied quickly,
I want to be the best student, sir. I prefer to use the time wisely.
He stared at me and simply said,
I see
He walked away and I thought I had fooled him, so I kept pretending to read while my stomach growled as I watched my classmates eat.
A short while later the teacher returned with a cafeteria bag, placed it on my desk and, as if nothing unusual, said,
I ordered too much and wont finish it. Take it, help me out.
Inside were an oatmeal roll, a juice box, and even a piece of fruita complete lunch.
I nodded silently. The moment he stepped away, I closed my book and began to eat greedily, as if I hadnt tasted food in days.
I never told him. I never confessed that the oat bread was the only thing I ate that entire day, nor that I had lied to avoid embarrassment.
Now, years later, I still recall that breakfastnot because of the oat bread or the boxed juice, but because someone recognized my need and didnt make me feel lesser. He helped without questions, without exposing me, without seeking praisehe helped with respect.
Since then I view things differently, realizing that some people dont need to ask much to do something meaningful.
