The Adult: Alien in the Delta
Growing up on Welfare
I will never forget the word “Commodities.” My father would go to the county’s food-distribution site to pick up our family’s share of government food when I was in elementary school; we called it commodities. Today it is called food stamps. You couldn’t hide your poverty back then; it was out there for everyone to see. You had to stand in line to claim your portions of food. Sometimes, the line was so long that it would curve around the corner of the block. It was a reminder that you couldn’t even feed your loved ones without the help of the government. It was embarrassing and humiliating for most people to stand in that line. The only consolation was that almost every family in town was standing there. Even though most families received some assistance, the children would make jokes and tease each other about eating commodity cheese. Once each month, my father went to pick up various items: sugar, powdered milk, flour, butter, canned meat, and yes, commodity cheese. Almost every family in Arkansas received some assistance from the government in the 1950's.
My parents also received Aid to Dependent Children (ADC) money for my care. To receive aid, you had to live below the poverty line. During the time that I was on welfare, a social worker would visit our house every six months. The worker would spend time questioning my parents about how they had used the money on me. The social worker would speak to me alone, away from my parents. She had a long list of questions that she asked me. The issues were mostly about the ADC money spent on food, clothing, and shelter. I always resented being put in a position to report on my parents. The ADC checks stopped when I turned sixteen years old.