Standing in the government surplus line was actually fun for me. I was a child, and I would have to stand with whatever adult had drawn the short straw for that week. Whether it was extremely cold or very, very hot, I absolutely loved standing in the line that typically wrapped around the block and moved very slowly.

If I was standing in the line, that meant I wasn’t home, which was not collectively the most fun place to be. I also got to people watch, which I have loved to do from a very young age. It was a very diverse line, with people of all sizes, shapes, colors, and genders. Most of the time, the person either directly in front of us or directly behind us would strike up a conversation. Sometimes it was pleasant, but a lot of times they were complaining about the economy, their job search, or the government in general. They would toss about colorful language as though I were invisible. And oddly, I loved it. Perhaps I felt like a bit of a big girl.

I certainly had no concept of pride in the sense that it didn’t bother me that we were there for freebies because we were poor. Quite the opposite, in fact. Standing in that line meant we would get toilet paper, powdered milk, peanut butter and a pungent DayGlo orange cheese block!

Standing in that line meant we ate hot dogs instead of liver and onions that week because it helped the grocery budget. It meant I could go through the clothing donations and possibly get a nice jacket to keep me warm, if they had one that fit me.

Sometimes they would have paper grocery bags filled with canned goods. It was almost always heavy non-perishables, but I didn’t mind helping to carry the load home because when we would unpack them, we would find immense treasures of dried beans, plastic twist-tie baggies with some rice, and on occasion - if we were really lucky - dented cans of pie filling.

There is one day in particular that calls out to me. I remember how bad it had been the week prior, and that we were down to open-faced ketchup sandwiches for meals. I knew heading to the surplus line meant food! But that week was slim pickins, as we had gotten in line late and were one of the last to be able to go through. There was no toilet paper, cheese was gone about five people ahead of us, and they weren’t expecting powdered milk to replenish for a while. I looked across the little wooden card table with the metal trim that separated me and the kind, weary-looking lady sitting in a folding chair, who was looking right back at me.

Her heart reached out a hug to me through her eyes, yet she didn’t smile. Instead, she seemed sorrowful, and without breaking her gaze at me she said, “Wait here. Let me see what I can do.” She was gone for what seemed like an eternity, and not only to me, as the last few laggers behind us very openly noted.

She came back with one of the paper grocery sacks I was used to, but it was roll-folded in half, which meant though she had found a few items, it didn’t look like I would have to help carry the load. When we got home, I very distinctly remember anticipating a can of beets or green beans.

The bag was opened. Lifted out first was a bottle of Flintstone vitamins! I had never had vitamins, let alone some as wonderful as in the shape of Fred Flintstone and Dino the Dinosaur! Next, I saw being removed from the paper bag of tricks was a small package of bologna, which held a very famous first-and-second name I could spell in a song. What bounty! What beauty! What delight!

And then came the absolute showpiece that would change my whole life: one potato as big as my tiny face. It was as though Mary Poppins had pulled a spoonful of sugar from her carpet bag, because I felt the need to sing and dance boiling within me.

The aroma of fluffy white filling and crispy brown skin filled the tiny apartment to every corner, making my tummy rumble with anticipation. As six of us sat for dinner, I could hear conversation about how the bologna would be fried the following night for dinner. How rich was I that I could partake in such a feast two nights in a row?

There, in the middle of the table surrounded by small melamine plates of yellow with green vine along the rim was the wrinkly gem. Somehow it looked smaller, and not like the hero of the day I had remembered from only a few hours before, but my salivating mouth didn’t seem to mind.

I watched a silver butter knife carve the potato into six pieces, making it open up to the world like a starburst. There were two pats of butter on a plate next to the steaming spud, reserved for the two adults at the table, but I didn’t need butter! I needed my share of the potato wealth!

My mind was screaming. My belly was rolling. My flesh was goosing. I couldn’t stand it! Pass the potato! PASS THE POTATO!

I could have picked my share up and popped it into my gob, risking the skin on both my fingertips and the roof of my mouth without pause; instead, I decided to stare at it in the middle of my plate, both hands holding my face in an attempt to keep myself harnessed. With my lips in the form of a whistle, I gently blew over the potato piece so as not to miss one hot spot.

I picked up my fork and cut into the cut. I had to push rather hard once the prongs found the potato skin, but I managed to chop that tiny morsel into three tinier morsels. There was conversation going on around me, but I was focused on the prize. I gently picked up the first piece and lifted it to my lips.

It almost immediately melted in my mouth until it was time to chew the crunchier skin. And chew I did, but as slowly as I could. Then came the second piece, and alas, the third. As the last bit went down, I remember closing my eyes and making my brain hone in on that moment. Looking back now, I feel as though it were the face of someone eating an extravagant and rare piece of chocolate.

I drifted off to sleep that night reliving the meal of a shared potato over and over and found myself smiling.

Growing up without wealth has created a spirit of gratitude and appreciation in me as an adult. Sharing that potato helped me to sharpen the skill of focusing on being present in the moment. In this crazy world we live in of busyness and bustle, it is almost a forgotten art.

Do you find yourself grumbling if the line is too long? Do you get incensed at the very thought of having to carry part of the load for others? Are you in a hurry to get it all done? Are you stopping to breathe and be present in the moment, even if it isn’t overflowing with abundance? Are you able to find joy in simple provision, or do you find that you stretch yourself more and more to just have more and more?

Well then. I challenge you to pass the potato. It will change your whole life.