Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: Yellow (11/12/09)
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TITLE: Redeeming a Rude Color | Previous Challenge Entry
By Bill Schwan
11/14/09 -
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When he was ten, he had accompanied his mother to the local food bank a month after his dad had died in a construction accident. His education into the stigma involved in needing public assistance began the moment they walked in the door. The woman behind the window looked up at them then looked down slightly and shook her head. He was old enough to know the difference between a look of compassion and contempt, and there was nothing compassionate in this woman’s eyes.
Long after they had completed the required paperwork, they were hurriedly ushered into a back room where they were given four anonymous yellow bags that contained whatever the agency had determined a family their size would need to supply the base nutritional needs for two weeks. Someone went to the extra effort to make them aware the food was expected to last for at least that long.
“Why do they have to be like that?” he had asked his mom on the ride home.
“There are so many people in need these days that maybe they get worn out by the sheer numbers of people they have to deal with,” she had said, giving people the benefit of the doubt like she always did.
“And these stupid yellow bags let everyone in the neighborhood know that we’ve been to the food bank. Why can’t they use bags that don’t advertise where the food really comes from?” he wondered.
Though the assistance was intended to get them through the adjustment period after the death of his dad, a snafu with the life insurance had made it necessary to make return trips for the next three months. After hearing some of his friends teasing him about where they had been doing their shopping recently, she had stopped asking him to accompany her and suffered the indignity of the food bank alone.
Mid way into October, she softly inquired if he would consider coming with her this trip.
“Only if you let me tell them how rude they are,” he said and twisted his face into an unpleasant grimace.
“We’re going somewhere else. You know the church across from the park in town?”
“Yes, some people in my class go there.”
“Well Mrs. Plotkin, your old baby sitter, set up a time for us to go to their food cupboard.”
“All right, I’ll come along,” he said with a little hesitation.
The following afternoon at about quarter to four they entered the basement door of the church.
“Hi there. It’s 3:45. You must be Mrs. Valendar?” a pleasant woman with a slight British accent asked.
“Yes and this is my son Kyle.”
“I’ve heard about you, Kyle. My daughter is in your class. Maddie, would you come and see what kind of foods this young man is partial to? That was just a ruse to get them out of our hair for a minute. Because we aren’t set up to deal with fresh foods like meat and dairy, I would like to explain what can be done with whole wheats, beans, and various grains to supplement your young man’s protein needs…”
“You know, your mom seems real nice,” Kyle said as he helped Maddie sort cans of vegetables dropped off by the cub scouts earlier in the week. “Why is that?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s not rude like the people at the other place.”
“Oh. You know when Jesus said ‘When you do it to the least of these you do it unto me’? I think Mother thinks we should be like that when helping people.”
He smiled at the memory as he pulled into the church parking lot. He loaded up with bags of vegetables, walked to the basement entrance and kissed Maddie as she opened the door.
“Twelve Wegman's bags at once? You’re such a nut.”
“Hey, real men only make one trip!”
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