I'M NOT ASKING FOR HANDOUTS
I’m not asking for handouts. We were on welfare once, but not anymore. I’m glad we are not. I didn’t like that social worker asking questions and calling us in from play. She needed to count how many of us children were in the house. She did that often. The number stayed the same. Nonetheless, she counted us anyway. I wonder how many other children she called from play just so she could count them? Doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not asking for handouts. I didn’t like to go to the doctor. I had to show the “yellow card.” They knew I was on welfare. The welfare bought my glasses and filled my ten cavities. I brushed my teeth, but I used to sneak candy when Mama wasn’t looking. Now I have nine fillings. One tooth got broken when I was playing basketball. It had to be pulled. I paid for it myself. I’m not asking for handouts. When we were on welfare, tears of shame grew silently in my heart. I used them to drown the sound of teasing. Other children seemed to find joy in doing this. They liked reminding me about “the welfare.” However, their teasing couldn’t keep me from Hoping. Dreaming. Creating. I’m not asking for handouts. - Loretta Diane Walker Published in America's Intercultural Magazine and Word Flirtations |