We the People: My Christmas Wish

I got an early gift from my sister. She had called to tell me to expect a package. As we chatted, I detected a bit of urgency in her voice when she told me to pick it up from the post office as soon as it arrived. Fortuitously, it got here earlier than the USPS had predicted. When I got it from the staff at the counter, I quipped that the USPS must’ve fed the pony extra oats. They laughed.

When I opened it, my eyes lit up. I had gotten a gift more precious than all the foofaraws’ gold bullion and bitcoins: Pizzelles.

I love pizzelles. There’s something about their black licorice flavor that melts my palate. But there’s more. They bring back warm memories of lunch at St. Colman’s.

My friend, David, who was of Italian descent, like me carried his lunch to school. His lunch pail was pewter gray and rounded at the top where a thermos was tucked. Mine was a brown paper bag that sometimes contained only a ketchup-and-mayo or scrambled egg sandwich on homemade bread wrapped in wax paper. I’d refold the bag over and over until it wore out and stuff it into my pocket for the next day’s lunch.

When I could, I’d sit next to David because his mom invariably included pizzelles, so much so that David got sick of them. But I didn’t. I’d almost salivate at the sight of them. When David gave them to me, I mangerei. Every morsel.

It’s a warm but also melancholy memory of the hard times my family endured after our father had untimely passed. Life could be hard. But it wasn’t our mother’s fault, and it certainly wasn’t ours, her kids. Nonetheless, she held firm, stayed strong, and kept us together. Just like so many mothers and families today.

Like my mother, they’re figuring out how to get by, which sometimes means relying on and accepting assistance. One is free food, which for us included tall brown boxes filled with powder milk or cornmeal from which my mother made mush. Every once in a while, that was dinner. After she prepped the mush, she’d brown oleo—not margarine—and dribble it over the yellow paste. I still hate the taste of mush. Even the thought of it makes me feel the grit in my mouth. That’s not so warm of a memory.

Today we call the hunger problem “food insecurity.” Back then, we didn’t have a high-minded term for it. We were just plain hungry, but it’s a distinction without a difference. A hungry kid is a hungry kid, and it’s not a pleasant one to be.

And this in the richest, most powerful nation in the history of civilization. Seriously?

Sixty years ago President Lyndon B. Johnson declared war on poverty. It wasn’t a war our military engaged in, but it was one, nonetheless, with casualties. It’s a protracted war that America is not winning, not because we don’t have the resources but because we lack the political will to win.

Which prompts this question: Have we raised the white flag of surrender and agreed that it’s acceptable for infants, toddlers, and growing children to be malnourished and go to bed hungry in America?

Today, over 14 percent of Americans suffer food insecurity that is now being fueled by a pernicious and callous disregard being practiced at the highest echelon of our government. It’s not only exacerbating the hunger problem, it’s also having dire effects on the health of the underfed. And the costs are not limited to the hungry. We share them through our health care system.

The support Americans give through donations and volunteering is phenomenal but on its own isn’t solving the problem. That’s where the national government has traditionally helped fill the gap. But it’s now shirking its responsibility.

When told at the dawn of the French Revolution that the people didn’t have bread to eat, Queen Marie Antoinette was purported to have declared, “Let them eat cake.” It’s likely a libel, but the statement, nonetheless, encapsulates the cold-hearted indifference various overfed power wielders show.

Nevertheless, we the people still hold the ultimate reins of power. That means that it’s up to each of us to decide if we’re okay with our government turning a blind eye and a deaf ear to hungry and starving kids.

It’s likely you’re familiar with Jesus’s admonition about man not living by bread alone. Jesus was right, but man, especially children, sure as heck cannot live without it.