The midday bell clammers and hundreds of size two sneakers go skipping down the hallway towards the cafeteria. It’s lunch time. To the majority of the child population this is the greatest time of the school day. Lunch entails hanging with your friends, eating food, reading that note your mom left inside your lunch box; just so many wonderful things to look forward to at lunch. I personally had the same excitement towards the best hour of the school day, until the day I found out what “Free and Reduced Lunch” truly means.
I always knew I didn’t dress as nice as the other students. This didn’t bother me. I never had homemade packed lunches in a shiny stainless steel Disney lunch boxes with notes from mom saying “Have a great day. I love you to the moon and back.” This didn’t bother me. I never had a baggie full of quarters to carry down to the cafeteria. This didn’t bother me either. Instead, my lunch time consisted of a brown paper bag, stamped with the letters “FRL”, made by a lady wearing a white stained apron and a hairne. I never knew what “FRL” meant. I used to imagine the lunch ladies in hair nets wrote me funny notes like “Fun Rabbits Learn” or “Fast Red Limousine”. Until one day in second grade this fantasy was shattered.
“Hey Matthew what do you think the lunch ladies wrote to me today? Fairies Read…” I asked, only to be interrupted by “They don’t write you notes Brianna. My mom says FRL stands for Free Reduced Lunch and that means you’re a poor person who can’t afford food.”
Everything I had told myself about not caring what clothes I wore and what lunch box I had suddenly vanished. My skin became hot as I could feel the eyes of my peers lighting me on fire. I fought back, “why does it matter what I eat for lunch? It shouldn’t bother you.” I was greeted with a harmony of voices saying things like “You get crusty sandwiches and rotten apples”, “your parents don’t love you so the lunch ladies have to make your food.”
Why was my suffering, enjoyable to them? For the past 3 years my friends and I were decondig the acronym “FRL” creating silly stories and being kids. Then suddenly, the second we discovered the true meaning of the letters, I was no longer their friend?
Coming to terms with my Free Reduced Lunch meal plan took me some time. I remember speaking to my dad about it that same night. His words provided comfort for me. He said, “do you know how much I love you? Do you know how hard I work to make sure you have everything in this world you could ever dream of? I work so hard and the school understands that. They want to help me continue to work hard for you, so they help me out with your lunch. Don’t you ever be ashamed of who you are Brianna, those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”
After about a week of sitting alone in the corner of the cafeteria, I returned back to my normal lunch table. I tore open my brown paper bagged branded with the letters “FRL” and shoved my turkey sandwich on whole grain bread in my mouth. I let out a big “MMMM” sound upon every bite. Heads turned to look at me. No one seemed to be able to understand why I looked so happy eating my lunch after I had sulked in my brown paper bag for a week. I smiled at my peers and said “I love lunchtime.”
ABC, 123, Lunch Is Free 