Christmas Even

by Lisa

One Christmas after I became a full-time stepLisa, I would have been able to put almost nothing under the tree for my two little people but what I could get with food stamps.  We were actually broke, nothing coming in and nothing expected in the near future. My mother and my aunt took things into their own hands and tried to sneak into the house with a giant Santa-sack of wrapped gifts.  They were giggling so loudly that the sneaking part failed, but we all stood in the kitchen and laughed together about the attempt at stealth.

I was so grateful for the help and so ashamed to need it.

Last week, a woman in front of us in line at the store had a stack of food vouchers. She laid Cheerios, milk, peanut butter, fruit–not much of any of it–and the other standard survival foods on the conveyor. She also had the makings of ambrosia salad, maybe, or a pineapple cake, and a small ham. Grandma Food. At the back of the conveyor were three little boxed gift sets of inexpensive body wash and pretty bath accessories.

The woman in front of us was trying to buy Christmas dinner. It wasn’t working out. She put aside everything but what was on her vouchers and one box of body wash.  Then, she put back the body wash. She had a twenty in her hand and spend half of it to get the bigger box of Cheerios and some jelly.

I have fed my family well enough on food stamps; there’s more freedom with that SNAP card than the vouchers.  I used to save the imaginary dollars for a couple of months to be able to cook a special meal and fill stockings with apples and oranges and Hershey’s kisses. There’s no Holiday Edition of government food assistance; buying chocolate gets you dirty looks from the ladies in line who don’t know better.

Their problem.

We, my small person and I, have been flush and we have been tight, but never broke. Not yet, hopefully not ever. Not since the divorce. Not since I chose to stop spinning in place. When I struck out on my own with just one small person in tow, I vowed to do anything to keep us solvent. Now, we are not alone. Now, things are easier. We are lucky.

I stood there in line with my hoarded Christmas present money in my hand.  We only needed one last thing and a few stocking stuffers; I was holding a hundred-dollar-bill to pay for Slim Jims and earbuds.

Life isn’t fair.

The cashier helped us to quickly ring up the food and gifts the woman in front of us had left behind in time for us to catch her and place the two small bags in her cart before she got out the door.  All of it came to less than fifty dollars, even with the ham.

Paying for those groceries was as much for my benefit (and my small person’s) as it was for the woman in line with all of her vouchers.  I hope I didn’t shame her.