Minna B

I was in third grade when I moved to the United States.

I didn’t speak English very well. I was that weird, foreign girl all the boys made fun of (until I hit puberty, of course. Then they overlooked my poor grammar to stare at my slowly emerging breasts. Funny how men work, even at such a young age.)

I was in third grade eating the “weird”, ethnic food my mom packed: rice, beans, plantains and minced meat -typical Venezuelan food. While others ate their oh-so-American PB&Js, trays of Lunchables, Lay’s potato chips and drank out of their precious juice boxes. 

I will never forget these lunch time memories, and I will never look at a box of Lunchables the same again. You remember Lunchables? With their fake meat and stiff cheeses, paired with a handful of crackers.

One third grade lunch time, Andy (the fat, weird, smelly kid that got made fun of almost as much as me) was dared to eat the crusty, white pile of bird poop that had been sitting on one of our picnic tables. I couldn’t believe people would actually want to see this in action, but then again, I wasn’t very familiar with American customs either.

So on this elementary school day, Andy picks up one of those stale Lunchable crackers, scoops the grey-white bird poop, and eats it. 

Yup. He ate it.

I didn’t feel so bad when they called me names for not speaking English after that, because at least I wasn’t the one eating bird shit.