In the Cleveland seed 76-77 we filled row by row to a table in the back to get our food. Early on the food was horrible, wet flat pb&j, one sandwich cookie and coolaid. Later we started getting some soup as well and sometimes better food. Food was provided by parents who made and delivered it to the program. Some parents, like my mother--a born hostess, started bringing in food that was beyond the minimum expectation. Those parents, according to my mother, started being asked to bring food more often.
Someone wrote above that they thought it was strange how they could remember the taste of the food but not how they got it. Not strange to me, for the longest time all I could remember vividly about the seed were things around the edges like the pattern on the tiles, the shape of the chairs, the smell of a lemon sandwich cookie. My memory was nibbling around the edges of the experience, remembering those things that were least likely to connect to something painful. The smell of that sandwich cookie corresponded to a half hour or so when the rap would stop, when we would play charades,when I didn't have to have my hand up.
I am sometimes amazed at the recilience of that young girl. I somehow found beauty, and pleasure while I was submerged in humilation and terror. I think that ability ultimately protected me so I had the strength to get through, and get away.
