“Some children are so hungry,” says the manager of a local homeless shelter for children as we stand in the common room, “that they eat two or three meals right when they arrive.”
I find myself here — after walking through a hallway loud with white noise to protect the privacy of children talking with therapists in rooms abutting the hallway — because my wife and I started a nonprofit farm to grow food for local kids in need. We’re visiting shelters, schools, and rehab centers to learn if they have a desire for fresh produce — they all do — to learn what they desire, and to connect with the kids who will receive the food.
I speak to a teenager watching daytime television in the shelter’s kitchen area. She is my older daughter’s age and, like this daughter, ready for conversation. When I ask her what produce she might like, she answers, “Lettuce!”with such glad unhesitating conviction that she laughs at herself. “Okay, lettuce it is,” I reply. I’ve visited a number of places in the last many months but for some reason when this homeless teenager says “lettuce” like this, with such undefended joy, I nearly come undone. I contain myself and write “lettuce” in my notebook, as if I am a dad taking down food orders at his daughter’s slumber party.