Hungry?
Have you ever really been hungry?
Not I-missed-breakfast-and-lunch-and-didn't-get-off-work-'til-past-five. Not Damn-we've-been-on-the-road-since-seven. Not I-could-eat-a-horse or Damn-that-smells-good.
I mean the second week. The second month. The seventh month. The life you can't remember past.
Hurt gut hungry. Rib dog without the energy to get up off the dirt hungry.
If you have really been hungry, there's nothing really for us to talk about today, other than to remind you of the Letter Carriers Food Drive tomorrow and that, if you have a little, get a bag to the porch or the end of the driveway this Saturday.
If you haven't, there's still probably nothing to say. You're just going to have to trust me on this one: you can change the world, utterly, in one day. You can make a whole world, a whole universe, a completely different place. Where once was a narrow blind alley, you can build a road that leads to broad vistas of hope and possibility, with nothing more than a simple can of soup or box of noodles or a few bucks.
Last year, in compiling this annual diary in support of the Food Drive, I called attention to Michael Nye's photographs and recorded stories of hungry Americans, on exhibit at San Antonio's White Musem. Mr. Nye's attempt to bring people face to face with the frightening, ever-narrowing world of the hungry was so profoundly beautiful and true and necessary that it was, by the natrure of our country, doomed to obscurity, despite the efforts of the museum and NPR.
Because the world of the truly hungry is a place no sane person wants to see. There's nothing noble or educational about it, and living in it doesn't lead to wisdom or "cred." Living in it makes you afraid, and even a brief stay will make your judgment suspect. There is, after all, a reason why food is the most popular bait for traps.
Many here may argue that the prime human right is freedom of expression. Or that the noblest struggle to fight is the struggle for equality. Or that the greatest gift one can give to another is the gift of knowledge.
Maybe they're right. But to me, the finest thing a human can do for another is to lay out a plate of fucking chow, today, tomorrow and down the road. A plate of decent food can break down walls of shadow and fear, can open up a wider view of possibility which can't be seen when a half bag of potato chips is the greatest dream that could ever come true.
In the end, it doesn't matter if you understand hunger. Only that you do something about it.
Some, when asked to help feed the hungry, recite the old adage about teaching a man to fish. A great idea. But if you don't feed that fellow first, he's not going to hear a word you're saying about fishing. He's going to stare at that worm, wondering how it tastes. Give the man a damn fish, already. We can start fishing class later.
Put the food in the bag. Leave the bag at the mailbox or the post office (tomorrow).
What? You'll feel worse afterward?