The discovery came unexpectedly during a summer visit home from college. Hearing Mom mention “government cheese” in passing shattered my nostalgic image of her famous cheesy potatoes. That childhood comfort food suddenly represented something entirely different – not just love, but resourcefulness in the face of struggle.
As more memories surfaced, I began connecting dots I’d missed as a child. The way our electricity would “coincidentally” go out before payday. The secondhand clothes from Aunt Nadiya’s kids. Mom’s mysterious weekend absences that I later learned were cleaning jobs at homes in wealthier neighborhoods.
When I finally asked Mom directly about those years, her straightforward response surprised me. There was no self-pity, just quiet pride in having made things work. “I wasn’t hiding things because I was ashamed,” she explained later. “I hid them so you wouldn’t carry that weight.”
Now when colleagues comment on my “hustle” or “grit,” I think of those cheese-block potatoes. The promotion I earned felt bittersweet when my boss framed my childhood struggles as an inspirational corporate story. But Mom’s wisdom – “perhaps you don’t carry it, you use it” – led me to volunteer helping single parents navigate the same challenges we once faced.
