Our organization, Blessings in a Backpack, has been making great strides to ensure we have healthier options in the bags we send home with children every weekend.
We have begun the transition to local sourcing from Pontiac Street Market, added fresh produce, had our bags curated by a dietitian who chose low-sugar, high-protein and whole wheat options for the shelf-stable selections. We saw great improvements and growth in our content.
However, there were always those who wanted to change the focus into their own vision, which often means that the foundation of the need is overlooked in the optimism of trends and possibility.
“Brown rice is a good substitute,” someone suggested.
I took a deep breath. “How does a child make rice without water?” I asked plainly. “What do they do when the utilities are shut off? When they can’t access water or electricity to fire up a hot plate? Do you want a 5-year-old turning the stove on, playing with an open flame, if there’s not an adult there to supervise them?” The room fell quiet.
I never ask people to consider these factors to be difficult. I ask them because it’s a story we hear echoed from the children we serve, to the paths lined with discarded food when we forget to add something as simple as a pop top on a can of soup.
Our privileged idea of food insecurity is still idyllic compared to the stark reality that the most vulnerable kids in our community face. Twenty years of working in nonprofit food pantries and case work had taught me this, but more importantly, I continued to learn from one of my own.
William was placed with us when he was 13 and had been our son ever since. At 19 years old, I share his story with his full consent as he now volunteers with our organization as an advocate for children in need.
Countless stories I’ve heard from him about the very real hunger pangs he endured. The grief of having ramen he couldn’t boil due to the water being shut off. The suffering from having frozen food that could have been cooked, but parents too high to wake up to prepare it. Of electric bills that went unpaid, so the food in the refrigerator spoiled. There wasn’t any power to the microwave to make anything anyway.
We were working on a new program together, one that will focus on children undergoing treatment for abuse and neglect.
We were early in the creation process, and William was giving his input on what should go into these bags based upon his own experience.
“Toothpaste and deodorant,” he insisted. “I got made fun of for being the smelly kid. That was the worst part of having the utilities always off; I don’t want these kids to be made fun of like I was.”
My heart broke for easily the hundredth time that day.
William had been removed at least 10 times from his home in the years before being placed with us. Our first trip to the dentist resulted in 17 cavities, two root canals and a dire infection that required extraction after years of lapsed appointments. When it was time for what I thought would be a single back-to-school vaccination, my eyes bulged as they pulled out nine syringes missed throughout the grades.
Even with all he had shared with me over the years, I couldn’t fathom the deep well William and I went through on the list of food options, choosing everything that required no prep, no working utilities, no appliances, no adult supervision; just like our regular bags.
“Can we find something ... that can distract them for a while? A small game that they can play by themselves. Sometimes when you’re not allowed out, or even too scared to leave your room …”
Make that heartbreak 101 times that day.
William insists that I keep the most vulnerable of children in the most dire of circumstances in mind as we work on the wish list. There are a few things I want to add, remembering all the meetings where I’m pressured by community peers to alter our program, but he is adamant against them.
“I wouldn’t have been able to make that in our house,” he reminds me. “It’s hard enough without being reminded that other kids would have a can opener in their house.”
I hadn’t thought of that. I wish I didn’t have to.
I would love to say that William was a rarity, or the worst-case scenario, but statistics assure me that he is not.
Later that day, I was on the phone with a prospective donor and when I began to describe our new program, I heard her voice catch in her throat.
“I was also very much like William,” she said softly. “I vividly remember a box of raw macaroni noodles that I would keep in my drawer to eat. I can still feel them scratching against my gums.”
Count was up to 102 for the day.
My point, hopefully, is not to disparage creative ways to introduce fresh cooking options, or to malign cooking classes for the underprivileged, or the million other ideas I truly believe are incredibly beneficial and have merit.
I’m a huge fan of any initiative to help people who are struggling. I believe everyone has a place to do their part in making our children’s futures brighter. Ours just happens to be ensuring that tummies keep getting nutrients despite the odds or obstacles placed in their way, and we have to stay true to this even when it’s not as pretty or seems incredibly basic in comparison.
Because there shouldn’t be a comparison, really; we all work best when we work together to fill every need, for every child, in whatever way they’re struggling.
William is a faithful reminder of this, and I’m continuously grateful not only to be his mom, but to hopefully see other children like him served by our organization come out the other side as they find a way to bravely thrive in this world that we continue to work together to make a greater future for them.
I’m sure you’ll see the announcement for this new program called Brave Bags — containing food, hygiene products, and items of comfort and distraction for children experiencing maltreatment. Around here, we call them “William’s Bags.”
When you see them, I hope that you remember that these kids exist. I hope you remember we haven’t forgotten. And above all, I hope that you find your place through any number of amazing organizations in your community that are working tirelessly to help in so many different ways, to ease the suffering of children. Everyone can find their place in that fight.
William taught me that.
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