How Good Do You Have It? Only Time Will Tell...

Last week while grocery shopping, I painstakingly checked the ingredients on just about every box in the cereal aisle. After much deliberation, I compromised with lightly sweetened multi-grain Cheerios. They had at least two times less sugar than many other brands but were still tasty.

The moment of truth came the next morning. “Dad, these don’t taste very good,” Ella said. “I don’t want them.”

Sophia, Ella’s 6-year-old sister, was less polite. “Eewww! These are awful!” she exclaimed in typical excessive fashion.

I explained to my daughters the dangers of eating too much sugar, especially early in the school day, when crashing an hour later wasn’t an option. I told them it was a reasonable compromise between tasteless and toothless. When they held firm in their boycott, I pulled out the “some-kids-are-so-poor-they-don’t-even-get-breakfast” card. Those kids, I said gravely, would not complain.

I want Ella and Sophia to understand the struggles of others so they can better appreciate what they have. With Thanksgiving around the corner, I wondered: Is it possible for 9- and 6-year-olds to grasp the concepts of hunger and poverty without seeing them firsthand?

Tanya and I are aware of our good fortune. Like many in our generous community, we try to impress this on our children by demonstrating acts of charity and by showing gratitude. But young children assume that what happens in their homes is normal. They aren’t born understanding how demoralizing poverty can be. And no matter how much we explain the horrors of going to bed hungry, surviving a Colorado winter without heat or wearing the same clothes every day, I fear that my children won’t really get it until they see it for themselves.

Throughout my childhood, I was always well-protected and provided for by loving, capable parents. I suppose I knew I was lucky, but I didn’t grasp the degree of my good fortune until I was on my own. Through the combination of work, travel, where I chose to live and what I did with my time — not lectures and explanations — I learned that not everyone is born with same chance to succeed and there will always be people who need help. I’m not sure I would have understood it any other way.

Having no doubts about where your next meal comes from is a privilege that eludes many children. I want my daughters to understand their advantages, as well as the tenuous and relative natures of success. I also don’t want them to feel guilty for having what they need; they shouldn’t feel bad for being comfortable. If anyone is culpable for their circumstances, it’s Tanya and me.

After my sermon, I told the girls they needed to finish their bowls or make their own breakfast. Ella finished her portion. Sophia grudgingly ate half of hers after supplementing with a tortilla with peanut butter. Both were quiet. They knew I was upset. But maybe I was the one who learned a lesson.