The Bread Outlet

As I was driving home tonight, a memory of when I was younger hit me and the feelings of my youth all started coming back.
I turned down a very dark street. To me a short cut to my house, although many would go another route because the area that I was in contained old abandoned buildings and a multitude of rundown homes. Each home had at least one or two broken down cars in front of them. People were outside on their porches, neighbors were talking over their tin made fences and there were kids everywhere. These kids were probably the same ones who had broken the street lights that dotted the coming road. I had my windows rolled down, the cool breeze felt great inside my truck, the crisp air was a goodbye to the Winter and a much needed welcome to the Spring. By having my windows down I could hear the people talking to one another, the laughter from a weekend conversation and there were children screaming up and down the sidewalk. Up the road I could hear the train, it being so noisy that no one wanted to live anywhere near it, except for these people. Which was probably not their choice, but rather the only thing available for them. This neighborhood was poverty stricken. This neighborhood was frightening. This neighborhood was always avoided. This neighborhood reminded me of home.
As I continued to drive down this road, I reached the end of it where an aged building sat. This building had to have been 100 years old, but on it was a big sign with paint, peeling proudly the words, "The Bread Outlet". The vibrant red lettering it once had now turned to a light salmon color and the much needed overhaul of the sign in general just seemed to fade away as I matched the entire scene with character. For many of you who do not know, a bread outlet is like a bakery, but it contains all the expired breads products from the previous weeks that bakeries or stores did not want. These outlets then take the bread and resell it for a much cheaper price to the public. This is legal, do not worry. But the majority of our population would not purchase expired food. Unless they had to, as these people in this area did. Or as I remember my family doing.
I grew up in a small town called Imperial, Texas. The community had about 150 people in it. It literally is in the middle of nowhere and the nearest town that would sell groceries is about 60 miles away. It is a town, where as my mother would say "if you blink, you miss it". And trust me, many people have blinked and missed it. It was an oil town, which once created large job opportunities, however, since the oil rush slowed to stopped, there isn't much left besides agriculture and farming. My father once owned a growing and thriving oil field business. This company brought many jobs and people to the town. My father was a business man, but under that very thin front, he was the most charitable person I knew. I remember on numerous times, people telling me stories of how my father helped them financially or how he brought them into our home when they didn't have food to eat. I remember stories about him never thinking twice about giving all he could to help another person. He was more of a friend than a company owner. Sadly due to financial difficulty of the market it went bankrupt after years of solid business. Everyone was out a job, many people left the town and tried to find success somewhere else. Except my parents. They were hit the worst. My family lost everything. They lost their cars, trucks, work vehicles, large oil machines, furniture, beds, toys and even their house. My parents had to take and hide things from the collectors so that they wouldn't take everything they owned. It was a very trying time. Thankfully my grandfather was financially able to save my parents home and a few other things to keep them on track. Years passed and my father was able to become stable enough to get by. Having a large family does take its toll, however it never slowed down my parents. They were both entrepunuors (sp) working to see what they could do next to help our family. When I was close to being in Preschool, my parents opened a catering business. It was an amazing BBQ joint with a great atmosphere and wonderful food. On many occasions I would be able to go with my father and pick up the needed products for the BBQ Place. We would always go to a Bread factory in the town where the shop was and pick up the buns for the week. My job was to count the bread we needed and make sure we had enough. I would always get my paper and pen ready and scribble something down, like it was important. Being so young, I knew how to count, so it was a perfect job for me. However, every time we would go in, we would come out with 4-5 extra loaves of bread or something. I would count and recount to make sure I had it right. Then I would ask my father if I had it wrong. But I never did. Then I would ride with my father as he would casual drive to certain homes and drop of a loaf of bread here or a pie here at another persons home. I never knew these people, and to this day I will never know. But I would watch him take these items to them, and the look on their faces or the pure excitement to see an old friend is something that I never have forgotten.
Again, cards turned and my family shut down the business. We were poor again. We lived in a poverty stricken town. My parents struggled to make ends meet. But I never knew that. My parents made sure that my brothers and sisters were taken care of. We had durable clothes, plenty to eat and a roof over our heads. I went to a little school, had great friends and never knew I was considered in the lower class of society. Even though we were going through all of this, it never stopped my parents. All of my childhood, I remember someone living with my family. Whether it be for a night or a year, there was always someone new needing a place to stay. My parents never turned anyone away, their motto was "There is always room for one more". It wouldn't matter if they were black, white, smelt bad or had a horrible reputation. Our home was always welcome to anyone. Dinner was a free for all, if you were in the house or a block in radius you were going to eat....and somehow there was always enough.
Years have passed. I graduated, moved away, found a career and have been very blessed financially and with my life. Most people would not even think that I was from a remote Texas town or raised in the financial situation I was. I have always been embarrassed of my upbringing. I still have a hard time telling people where I am from or what life was like for me growing up. I maybe visit once a year. But as I get older, I am starting to realize that I have found the greatest lessons of love and charity from a little poverty stricken town. From two people who did not have a lot to give, but gave all they had. From a father who taught me that love and charity would last longer than money. And a mother who still lives in the same house I grew up in, who still is as poor as ever, but the happiest woman I know.