School on an empty tummy

It was the little boy; the son of the late carpenter who had worked for me that drew my attention. He was supposed to be at school but was drifting aimlessly around the village, hungry and looking for some leftovers wherever they may be found. I was appalled and in typical human fashion I was trying to find someone to be angry with. I wanted to be angry with his mother. She it turns out could only manage to provide the eight children with one meal a day and that was in the evening. I tried to be angry with a lot of people. I wanted to find some way to explain away my intense discomfort, I needed someone to take the blame, I needed to be able to walk away from this. It was then that a memory from my childhood returned. In my early teens during a visit to a school friend we went out through the kitchen door to find two even younger coloured kids picking from the plate scrapings in the dogs dish. My school friend responded with: "hey, that's the dogs food". The reply which haunts me to this very day was: "yes, but it is nice". I could not walk away this time.