Tough times, ahead and behind

I grew up under the tutelage of old parents, my father being 45 when I was born, and my mother being 40. They were both products of the depression, but particularly my father who came from real dirt-poor poverty.

It wasn’t apparent to me as a child that we were “poor”, but it was made clear to me years later in a conversation with my aging mother who pointed out that I didn’t have a bicycle until I was about 10 years old. And the Christmas that produced the bicycle was a year when the tree was absolutely devoid of all presents except that bike. My needs were met and that’s all I knew as a boy.

Waste was a hideous sin in the GunRights home. And no waste was more sinful than wasting food. Above all else, food was to be stretched as far as possible, and nothing edible was ever thrown away. It was a constant refrain in my home around mealtimes: “Don’t you waste that food! There’s people going to bed hungry tonight!” The little GunRights’ only thought on hearing such truisms repeatedly was “They can sure have MY liver or beets.”

When my father lay dying in a hospital bed I was sitting there one afternoon just watching over him. He didn’t feel like talking and seemed asleep. The nurse walked in all cheery and chatty and bustled about doing this and that. She took note and commented that there was a full glass of milk left untouched that Daddy hadn’t drank.

“Oh Mr. GunRights, you didn’t drink your milk” says she. “Well I guess not! It’s all warm now. Let me just throw this out and get you a fresh glass.”

My Dad popped up to a sitting position like he’d been catapulted there. “Don’t you dare waste that milk! Give me that!” he snapped.

Snatching the milk out of her hand he guzzled it down in one fell swoop and handed her back the glass. Without another word he sank back down into his torpor.

She looked at me with a semi-shocked look and then made a hasty retreat. Foolish woman; I could have told her she was screwing up at just the thought of wasting a glass of milk, whether warm or not!

I’m afraid that tough times are coming for America, and I suspect that many of us will rue the day we wasted anything – but most especially food.

Victor Davis Hansen is a classicist author and historian whose words are always worth hearing. Here’s his take on some Depression memories, and the contrast they afford with modern times.