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WANT MILK?

Do you want milk?” A phrase oh so familiar to me from my lunch room memories. One memory in particular stands out to me the most. I can remember getting a carton of milk and being so dissatisfied and disgusted with it.

    “Do you want milk?”

    “Sure, chocolate please.”

    “Here you go have a nice day.”

I sat down to drink my chocolate milk and all was well. I had always gotten this creamy drink to accompany my lunch since I was the age of five. Milk was part of the meal, the other drinks like water or juice cost extra. My friends would buy water or Gatorade, leaving me part of the milk drinking minority.

I began munching on my ham and cheese sandwich from the deli bar. I love the way cheese and ham go together in perfect harmony. I peeled open the corner of my carton of chocolate milk and slid my red and white striped straw inside. Slurrrrrpppp! In went my first gulp of chocolate milk. My friends watched judgingly as my chocolatey childhood friend climbed up my straw and into my mouth. “How do you drink milk everyday? Don’t you ever want juice?” I couldn’t think of the correct response to give my friends. Of course milk wasn’t my first choice, but I didn’t have money to buy water or juice every day. I responded with, “I love it so much, its my favorite drink you guys are really missing out.” As I competed this sentence I plucked my straw from my carton and raised the triangle shaped opening to my mouth out of spite. I squinted my eyes and poured the chocolate milk down my throat. I was greeted by a large chunky curdle on the back of my tongue. I began to cough and gag ferociously. My friends laughed until their stomachs hurt. I went running from the cafeteria heading towards the nurses office.

Looking back now, I wonder why milk is a staple of all school lunches? First of all, it has the potential to spoil easily. Secondly, it doesn’t compliment most foods well at all. When it was pizza day, milk was still served. Milk and pizza? Yuck! After my traumatizing experience with milk in the cafeteria, it took me a long time to ever drink it again at home. Nonetheless, I never touched it again at school. But still I wonder, why not serve children a small bottle of water or small can of apple juice? Water has a far higher health value than milk does. Additionally, water goes well with just about anything you could possibly eat. Yet, our school system seem to have an unbreakable contract with the milkman.

“The Political Cheese Sandwich”

Story time: Jenny is 12 years old and in middle school. She’s ambitious, hard working and compassionate. Jenny is being raised by a single dad doing the best that he can to provide for her and her younger brother. Last year, Jenny was on the Free and Reduced Lunch plan,but her dad recently just got a new job so she no longer needs to be on this plan. Jenny is so excited to be able to buy snacks and good meals like her friends do during lunchtime. Everyday for the entire first month of school Jenny buys a ham, salami and American cheese sandwich, with lettuce and honey mustard; along with a bag of Lays barbecue styled potato chips and a bottle of water. Jenny is living the dream, until one day she heard some news she didn’t like.

“Hunny, you don’t have any money in your account, I can charge your ham sandwich but I can’t let you get any snacks until you bring in money”, the lunch lady kindly explained. Jenny nodded her head promising to bring in lunch money the next day. When she went home that night to ask her dad for money he was empty handed. He had just paid the rent and gone grocery shopping. “I’m sorry sweetheart. By the end of the week I will have lunch money for you. Pack lunch for the rest of the week” her dad explained. However, Jenny did not want to pack lunch. She liked being able to get her ham sandwich with her friends everyday. The idea came to her that she could charge her lunch again tomorrow. So she did.

The following day, after she got away charging her ham sandwich twice, she was brought to a halt at the deli counter. “I have a notice here that says you have an Insufficient Lunch Account Balance. I’m sorry, but I cannot make you a ham sandwich. Instead, I can make you cheese and white bread with a side of carrots and whole milk.”

Jenny is not a fictional character. Jenny is a pseudonym for Brianna (me). Since when was “cheese slices on white bread” enough food to feed a growing child? Why is it that the school lunch system is so highly influenced by politicians who create these “state mandated school health programs” for students with money, but seem to disregard the health of a child who has an “insufficient lunch account balance”? This idea baffles me. The idea that school teaches you to be an individual, yet if you don’t have money you are denied the choice of what to put into your body. This idea correlates to the world outside of school lunches. This is such a widespread epidemic that impacts the majority of low income families. They are given food stamps that exclude name brand items or items contains too much sugar or fat. Food stamps, again something politically infused. Politics control more than just the tax laws and world relations. Politics are impacting what humans can eat and not eat based on a corrupt rubric that grades based on their yearly income.

Jenny ate her cheese sandwich alone that day. She isolated herself from her friends to avoid teasing. Not only was she isolated physically from her friends, but mentally too. Eating this cheese sandwich made her feel less than she is.

“Fast Red Limosine”

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.”