It was a summer camp field trip and I’d been eating crummy food for what seemed like forever; I must have been about 10 or 11 years old. It may even have been the year I ran away from camp, an ill-fated adventure that ended with several of us renegades walking a very long way back to the camp in the dark. Scary. And who knows, maybe the candy bar started it all.

On the field trip we’d gone to a swimming pool, and after our swim we were all hungry and no doubt craving sugar or carbs. Two young counselors had a Hershey bar that had melted in the heat of the day, and they sat on a bench in front of us—I can still see them in my mind, lanky wet hair hanging over their faces—wiping melted chocolate off the paper and licking their fingers til every drop was gone, as we wee things stood salivating.

I don’t even like Hershey bars, but to this day I remember those girls every time I see one. This must be a little taste (sic) of the way those who don’t have enough to eat constantly feel. They see people all around them living well-fed lives, and they are struggling just to survive and feed their children. Are we all those mean girls?