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I write letters to my son, Myles, sharing my journey as a first-time dad and spreading the love I didn't experience myself. If you’ve been here before — thank you for coming back. If you’re new here, here are some good places to start.
2 Years Old
Dear Myles,
I grew up the kind of poor where you didn’t know you were poor—the kind where we didn’t have much but always looked good. The kind where you couldn’t tell because our shoes were always clean and our faces shone so bright with Vaseline that when the light hit, it made the sun wince. The kind of poor where a sock or pair of underwear never had a hole in it because your grandmother always warned us that if we ever got hit by a car, our drawers had to be clean.
See, I never knew we were poor because we were always fed—well fed. For God’s sake, I wore husky, and my thighs were so thick in elementary that my pants flooded. There weren’t gifts under the Christmas tree, but every holiday felt like Thanksgiving. Your grandmother struggled to make the rent, but food was plenty. Pots on the stove took up two burners, and the chicken was so good you ate it down to the gristle.
I don’t know how she did it, but your grandmother worked all day, picked us up from after-school, and could make diri kole, bunun pezi, sauce pwa, and vyan poul—and made Tuesday feel like Sunday dinner. A prayer, a full plate, and the kind of itis that made you sink into the couch made us feel rich.
For the life of me, I still cannot figure out how she fed two boys who could eat a house out of a home. Because you are only two, and sometimes I wonder how something so small can eat so much. How did a dozen eggs last us a week when we were young, but only a couple of days for you, me, and your mother?
What kind of praying did your grandmother do on an income that was less than half of mine, yet managed to cook enough for us at night and for my friends who over for breakfast before school: pancakes, eggs, and bacon in rotation. How did your grandmother have so much less, but the fridge was always full? Because the math ain’t mathing.
And then I remember the food stamp card she used to pay for groceries.
How at the beginning of the month, we had enough groceries to fill the shopping cart to the brim. And when that money hit on the first, I just knew I could get a couple of snacks and my favorite cereal. How the first of the month meant she was able to give a little more to her friends, and they could give a little too. See, when your fridge is full and the stomachs of your children are too you always have bread to share.
I’m grateful for the meals your grandmother made, the God that supplied, and the SNAP card that put a little extra on our plate when we needed it. Because if yesterday were today, and the government was just about to starve 42 million people tomorrow, I’m not sure what would have happened.
We live in a world where famine and hunger are man-made, where people profit from hunger. Where more hungry people means fatter wallets. Where I can write about these things from a distance now without worrying, because grace means I no longer need help from the government—but I used to. What would happen if yesterday were today, and we didn’t have the means to put food on the table, and the little money we were getting to fill our plates was about to disappear? Who would I be if I were hungry and not fed?
Because those food stamps used to slap, but I can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if we didn’t get them when we were younger. I can’t imagine me, a father now, and you, hungry—crying for food with your mouth and signing for more with your hands.
I want you to remember that what we have now is not because we deserve it and others don’t. Part of it is grace, but a large part of it is man’s insatiable desire for greed. In a world where everyone matters, no one should go hungry.
I hope, when you are old enough, you learn how much having is a gift. I hope one day you learn to share—to split a dollar in two and cut a coin in four. Because truthfully, it feels like a time is coming when all you’ll have are the people who hold you up when life is hard because the system would rather build ballrooms on the bellies of hungry children than see them fed.
But remember, billionaires are edible.
I love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Love,
Daddy
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This letter is inspired by:
- ’s - Starving You is the Point: The Neuroscience of Hunger and Obedience in America
- ’s - Millions are about to go hungry. We need to build power with them.
My childhood.
My 93-year-old grandma, Myles’s great-grandma, is among the many people I love who will lose their SNAP benefits on November 1.
Want more of Myles’ Letters?
Myles met his Grandfather in Brooklyn, NY
Read about Our first Father’s Day.
A video about beautiful backgrounds: Tell Them Where You're From.
Read about My Wife’s Love Affair - It’s exactly what you don’t think
Have you ever been Cooking in the Bathroom kind of tired?
Check out Carrying the Gift, Holding the Love
When food for children needs to be cut to give billionaires more money then most has already been pillaged and the US is one financial crisis from collapse or revolution.
They way this country is being run is appalling. The greed is unending, and because they have so much they think nobody needs support. My heart is breaking for those who rely on these support systems and they are about to be ripped away from them. Hopefully the tides will turn soon, but I fear for what will happen in the meantime.