From the time I was 4 – 18 years old my dad worked as an apartment manager in one of the wealthiest areas in the
United States. As part of my dad’s job we received a free apartment. My dad was on call 24 hours a day, worked 8 AM – 5 PM (always more), and made $1500 a month. My mom worked 2 jobs. I remember staying up late at night with my sister and waiting for her to come home from her graveyard shift. She would bend on her tired knees, my sister and I ran to her, and she tiredly scooped us in her arms, gave us kisses, and then led us to bed. The little money my parents earned, working a combined 200 hours a week, supported my dad, mom, me and my sister, along with utilities and other daily expenses. We were on the lower economic scale, and I had absolutely no clue.
There are those who grew up poor and knew they were, and there are those like myself, who had no idea. Amongst other indicators, one of the things that should have been a clue were the free lunches I received. My parents always made sure we had food in our bellies, and extravagant breakfasts and dinners. School lunch was sometimes embarrassing though. In the 2nd grade my teacher harassed me because my parents didn’t buy me a $20 punch card and I sometimes didn’t have money with me to buy lunch. On those days I had to go to the office and receive a credit. My teacher rolled her eyes and lectured me in front of the class. This was the first time the defining “P” (poor, poverty) was metaphorically embroidered onto my chest. As a child I didn’t understand why my parents didn’t just give me the $20. I begged them to give me $20 so my teacher would stop singling me out. Later, in high school, I received
free and reduced lunch. Although surrounded with my peers who wore designer clothes, drove luxury cars, and went to
Europe for their vacations, my homeroom teacher assured me that other students received free lunch; I had a hard time believing it. Walking through the lunch line, choosing food items that did not surpass the 5 free dollars, I grew aware of the “P” searing through my clothing and making my skin sweat. As an already self-conscious teenager I felt a spotlight on me as I inched forward the school line, approaching the piece of paper the cashier held with a list of the other poor kids.
Later in life, I chose to apply for AmeriCorps*
VISTA, and in turn chose to live in poverty. Unless you have savings, or family support, an AmeriCorps member is going to need to use food assistance in order to feed themselves. The process of acquiring food assistance is sometimes confusing and emotionally draining. When I first chose to apply for food stamps I made very little money and was not allowed a second job, because of the nature of my work. Here is a breakdown of my expenses:
My 2008 – 2009 Budget:
Income: $800
Car: $150
Rent: $525
Fuel: $75
Soap, shampoo,
toilet paper etc.: $50
Total: $800
Perfect! Right? Not exactly. I made exactly enough to pay my bills (not even, my sister paid my cell phone bill). On months when fuel costs exceeded my budget I walked the 4 miles to work and the 4 miles from work.
Western Washington is known for its rain. The air holds a lingering scent of rain, and when the gray skies don’t release its steady rainfall, it still clings to the streets. Due to this, when I wasn’t walking through rain on these journeys, my feet were soggy 100% of the time I arrived at my destination. Now, take a second look at my budget and see if you can find anything missing. Did you find it? Food is missing (as well as savings). I had absolutely no money to pay for my food expenses, and that is where SNAP and food pantries came into play.
My first year applying for food assistance wasn’t difficult. I had the other occupants of the house I rented from write a note saying that we didn’t share food (which was true), I had a note from my landlord saying how much I paid in rent, and at that time any assets you owned counted against you, so I brought paperwork concerning my car and pathetic bank account. The caseworker was extremely nice, had worked with AmeriCorps members in the past, and I received my food assistance card in the mail within a month.
I only received $60 to start out. Hungry, often, I left work during lunch in order to get nourishment from a local food pantry. This in itself is a humbling experience. A Church ran the food pantry. Each visit I signed in and waited to hear my name. I waited about 30 minutes. My name called, I sat across the worker feeling ashamed. I wanted to tell her that I worked 40+ hours a week, I’m only there because I’m paid so little but work so much and am not allowed a second job; I wanted to let her know that I’m not a drinker nor am I on drugs. I did not say any of those things, though, and silently sat across the smiling worker as she punched keys on a computer and told me to wait in the waiting room for my box of food.
I started my service year weighing roughly 150 pounds. Although the hunger pangs whenever I saw my coworkers lunches were bothersome, I showed no signs of nutrient deficiency or hunger; not for another 4 months at least. Four months into my service term my skin had a scattering of acne, my hair thinned, and I weighed a slender 140ish pounds. By the end of my service-term, in January 2009, I weighed 128 pounds. The last few months of service I received $90 a month in food assistance. No longer embarrassed, I utilized the resources in my community. I needed food and I didn’t care who knew it. At times, I went to a grocery store and received less than friendly looks, and one time the cashier insinuated that I didn’t work and then sneered at me. She literally sneered at me. Of all the nerve! But those are the types of things that sometimes happen when you are a recipient of social welfare. Look at my own mindset when I first went to a food pantry. I sat in embarrassment and wanted to tell the worker that I worked, didn’t drink, and didn’t do drugs. Why would that cross my mind? Why did I feel the need to explain and prove myself? It crossed my mind because there is a social stigma attached to receiving aide. I held some of those beliefs, and as much as I believe in supporting your neighbors, and in social welfare, in the back of my mind I held stereotypes and preconceived notions of the “type of person” who receives aide, (and cue the irony) despite having grown up receiving such aide.
When a person decides to apply for food assistance it’s a decision that’s made after all other resources are drained, and you find that you just cannot buy enough food to live. My first year of AmeriCorps service was an emotionally trying and character building year. When I was unable to adequately feed myself I sought assistance. My food allowance was $60 - $90 a month. I frequented food pantries. I had no savings. I was hungry. I needed help.
I am currently in my second year of AmeriCorps*
VISTA, and in using SNAP. In my two years of use, I have encountered dirty looks and snide remarks; this past year it took three months, 10+ phone calls, two denials due to not turning in paperwork I turned in three times, and a supervisor who works for the county in order for me to cut through red tape and receive benefits before I starved. When I complained on Facebook about the run-around I received trying to acquire SNAP, a college friend commented, “That’s unfair! You’re a college graduate and work 40+ a week!” Well, the same goes for millions of other welfare recipients.
My story is slightly different, but also the same as that of the millions of people who use SNAP. Post-college, my story is different because I chose to live in poverty. I was told how much my pay was going to be. I knew that I was not allowed a second job. It’s also the same as millions of other people because of the way I grew up. When I talk to my parents they sometimes share their regrets over not having money. My mom sometimes cries over it, and my dad still swears he will win the lottery and we’ll live on Easy Street. Our wealth is one of their greatest heartaches. I know that if they were able they would have made enough money to keep us in the middle class, not reliant on other people, with savings in the bank. I’m sure that other tired parents, individually working 80 hours a week, only able to see their families in the dead of night, in between jobs, would choose a life of self-sufficiency over assistance. I’m sure they would choose a life where they did not need to rely on food assistance; a life where their children’s stomachs are not aching, they can concentrate on their work and not the food they long for, and not have their names on a list, wearing their poverty as a badge.
Written by:
Andriana Bicanin
AmeriCorps*VISTA
2010 - 2011
New Century IDA
