Of course, learning to act normal (as a student in my FYS refers to those of middle class pedigrees) takes a toll. When I was little, I was ashamed of my food stamps and Goodwill clothing.
But after years of teachers taking off points for school supplies that arrived late, my heart has admittedly turned cold. When you have to individually tell eight teachers that your fee waiver covers their class fees, you get tired, especially when one demands, in front of the class, “Emilee, where is your money?”
And she informs you, in front of these 30 peers, that you will be receiving a zero for the “first assignment” — the bringing in $30 for lab fees you legally do not have to pay — and that if you bring it in tomorrow, she may give you half credit.
Now, this is the part that truly enrages you: not 24 hours earlier, you pulled her aside after class, letting her know your financial situation, dealing with the sad eyes adults always give you, writing your name down and hearing her promise not to make a big deal out of it. When you realize that you have done everything you were supposed to and still get treated as a lesser person, you have two choices: fight or flight.
So I will not apologize for my sass. I will not apologize for making the class uncomfortable as I stand up for the reputations of the financially disadvantaged. I will not apologize for using the first person when I talk about the poor. I have spent years making myself as small as the spectrum of choice for those who rely on food stamps to eat.
I am not asking for pity; I do not want your charity. But rather, keep in mind that for a lot of people on your college campus, eating ramen every week isn’t a funny joke about being in college — it’s our lives.
Be understanding. Be compassionate. But most of all, be human, because that’s all we want to be, too.
Emilee McCubbins a Contributing Writer for the Voice, can be reached for comment at EMcCubbins20@wooster.edu.