By Jefferson Weaver
I read a news story the other day about how college students were “going hungry.” I admit, I was a little bit confused – being hungry was part of the college experience back when computers used huge floppy discs and some of us still used typewriters. Of course, the term going hungry has changed a bit, too – it used to conjure up
images of starving children in Third World countries. Then it came to describe (as well it should) the truly needy in our own backyards, and the children of families having a hard time making ends meet. By the way – if you ate fast food last week, or have more than two cans of beans in the cabinet, you should be ashamed if you don’t
participate in the Backpack Buddy program or your local food bank.
I am just a bit perplexed at the concept of college students going hungry. Now, it takes a right smart chunk of change to go to college nowadays. It wasn’t cheap 30 years ago, but between loans and a few scanty scholarships, my parents’ determination and me working between classes, we paid the bills. I reckon there were a few times when I might have been classified as “going hungry,” considering the definition I read made it sound as if missing one meal sit- down meal a day, more than twice in a week put on the verge of starvation. Whilst I never thought I would become old enough to say these words, when I was that age, if you were hungry, it was likely your own choice. In my case, I am ashamed to admit, that choice was often due to adult beverages, a movie, a road trip, or all of the above.
One could, if one truly needed food, find a way to provide. Skip the party. Pick up change in a parking lot. Do some day work, or get another job. If things were really bad, one could swallow one’s pride and ask mom and dad for help – for many of us in my class who found ourselves in that dilemma, that help didn’t come in the form of cash, but actual real food. For the record, I worked in college – I mowed grass, hauled appliances, cut fish, caught fish and shrimp, sold scrap metal, did some freelance writing, tutored other students, and eventually worked for the college newspaper.
At many universities, somebody would give you a job if you needed to make some money. It might be in the cafeteria, it might be sweeping floors, raking leaves, or shelving books, but if you were hungry, it was your own fault. I worked hard, but sometimes I made some bad choices. Sometimes I found myself broke and by the modern standard, hungry. So I – and most of my friends – doubled down and worked harder. Maybe we didn’t get to enjoy the “college experience” as much as some folks, but one of my fellow hard scrabblers was just recently appointed to a very prestigious position with the state. Another one stays busy running a business he built from virtually nothing, that now operates in several states. I can assure you, we still had plenty of fun. We also knew the times, cost and location of every buffet and good diner.
We learned how to stretch a couple boxes of macaroni and cheese and a few other staples over the course of a week. We assiduously kept track of whose turn it was to tip, if someone was a little short the time before. In essence – we might have been hungry, but we didn’t know it. I would not, under any circumstances, mock someone who is truly hungry. I drive enough that I sometimes think I am a magnet for those in need. They are why I have a box of MREs in each of my vehicles, despite the double-contradiction of the name Meal, Ready to Eat. I have been accused of playing a cruel joke for offering a needy person one of those brown bags, but if they’re good enough for our military and disaster victims, they’re good enough for me.
I reckon my perspective is a bit twisted, since whenever I have been hungry, I tried to do something about it. Sometimes I have had to ask friends or family for help with groceries. Sometimes I have had to catch or hunt supper. God always provides, one way or the other, and quite honestly, you haven’t dined til you’ve had corn-fed
country pigeons in rice, or catfish caught on a piece of greasy rag, or venison fried with forgotten apples that required the sweat of your brow. During one odd summer, a year or two out of college, I was determined to make a living selling fiction. That was likely the closest I’ve ever come to being truly hungry. There were times that I caught bait with a cast net and was faced with the choice of trying to sell the bait, use it to catch something more palatable, or just enjoying the bird (or rather fish) in the hand. I somewhat reluctantly ate snapping turtles, since I’ve always liked the old dinosaurs. Had nutria rats made their way to the city where I was an atypical starving artist, I can assure you I would have been relishing a plate of ragoutain whenever possible.
Now, this is not to say I never had more traditional groceries, but I was often remarkably short. When I finally swallowed my pride and de-prioritized the dream, my caloric intake went up (and frankly, the quality of my writing improved). I firmly believe we all need to be a little hungry sometimes; not necessarily destitute starving hungry, as are the truly needy, but just peaked enough to appreciate what we have. And I’ll make a standing offer to any of these college students who are going hungry.
For no charge at all, I’ll be happy to help you learn a few ways to earn some extra dollars, and on top of that Miss Rhonda will be sure you eat, in the bargain. It might be simple fare, it might not be fancy, but it won’t be MREs. If you can afford to attend college, however, I still think there is much to be said about enduring tough times. It makes you work harder and better appreciate the sacrifices made by others so you can further your education, and makes you understand the importance not just of being hungry, but the recognition that you can, if you really want, do something about it.
I understand the desire of virtually every college student to want to change the world – but as the saying goes, you have to learn how to start a lawnmower before you can start a revolution.
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