Poor People's Food

My sixteen-year-old stepdaughter Kate searched the refrigerator in vain for something to eat, or at least for something she wanted to eat.

“I’m hungry,” she proclaimed.

Marilyn recited the litany of food in the refrigerator, freezer and pantry. “I’m not taking you to Johnny’s for a burger,” she said. “It’s too late and I already have my nightgown on.”

Unhappy with any of her mother’s suggestions, Kate began pawing through the pantry. Marilyn joined her search, hoping to find something to satisfy her baby’s insatiable teenage hunger.

“Check this out, Kate,” she said, showing her a specially decorated commemorative can of Spam.

“No way,” Kate said. “Spam is horrible and only poor people eat it.”

“Have you ever tried it?” Marilyn asked.

“No way!”

“Then how do you know how it tastes?”

“Who cares? No one even knows what it’s made of.”

“It’s just ham in a can, Kate,” Marilyn said.

Kate was having none of her mother’s argument and finally microwaved a Hamburger Helper. Still, the discussion caused me to consider the food I ate while growing up in Louisiana and how much enjoyment people miss because they have preconceived notions.

My parents were simple working folks, my mother a homemaker, my dad a pipe fitter. My dad never made much money but I never thought of us as being poor, and I do not recall ever missing a meal. I remember my mother’s Spam and eggs for breakfast, Spam sandwiches for lunch, and Spam and green beans for dinner. Spam was not the only thing we ate by any means, but when we had it, I liked it.

Heck, I also enjoyed eating potted meat and Vienna sausages. My Aunt Dot sent me a care package when I was deep in the jungles of Vietnam and I remember enjoying the can of Vienna sausages included in the prize better than I would have a lobster or filet mignon.

Money supplies the necessities of life but do more expensive purchases equate to a happier existence. I think not. A Rolls-Royce will not take you a single mile further than a Chevrolet, or get you there any quicker.

As the saying goes, money cannot buy happiness. Now I wonder, how much happiness do rich folks miss because of their snobbery? This I know - sometimes what you miss most are the simple things you never even think about, until you lose them.

Gondwana