The perfect balance

Gracie Smith
MSMU Class of 2027

(4/2025) It had been raining for nine days straight. At this point, the once-dry grass began to weep from the over consumption of fresh, constant rainfall. I never thought you could get tired of something you needed to survive. For nine days I had watched the grass slowly resurrect from the crisp rain, only to die again from nature’s stimulating generosity. It baffled me how easily something could die. If you don’t get enough of something, you start to die. However, if you get too much of something, you also start to die. How solely dependent we were on balance.

My gaze out the window broke when my teacher, Mrs. Haney, dismissed us for lunch. The other students and I made our way to the cafeteria to eat, and I took my usual seat at the end of one of the long tables. I opened my lunch to reveal what my mother had packed for me. There was a tuna sandwich on wheat bread, baby carrots, blueberries, and two packs of string cheese. My eyes lingered on the tuna sandwich. Right, Friday.

During Lent, it was expected that we avoid eating meat on Fridays, and we fast on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday. Going to a public school made these obligations difficult to explain. I, being somewhat shy and modest, never wanted to put myself in a position to explain my Catholic practices or obligations. It was most unfortunate that a group of kids on the other half of the table took notice of this and decided to comment.

"What is that?" sneered a girl, with brownish hair and a pale complexion. She looked at my food in disgust. Her eyes were particularly fixed on my sandwich, the tuna sandwich.

I thought a moment before commenting, trying to figure out the best way to answer without further questions. However, the only thing I could muster up was, "Oh, it’s a tuna sandwich."

Stupid. Of course they know it’s tuna.

The girl with brown hair laughed an obnoxious sort of laugh that drew attention to the situation. Before I knew it, it felt like half of the cafeteria was looking at me and my tuna sandwich. Not only was my appetite lost, but I was numb. For the first time ever, I couldn’t move. I just sat there holding my sandwich while the girl with brown hair laughed at my food.

After a seemingly long while, she finally stopped laughing, "Tuna? Who eats tuna?"

Her friends laughed in support of her ignorant comment. I gazed across the room, face red, and noticed now that everyone in the cafeteria was looking at me.

Again, I found myself considering my options, though, rather blindly. Looking down at the rest of the food my mother packed, I found myself angry at her. How could she do this to me? Why would she pack me tuna? Of all things!

Before I spoke, I quickly composed myself and dismissed my previous way of thinking. It wasn’t my mother’s fault, and I knew that.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words came out weakly. "My mom made it for me, today’s-" I stopped myself quickly before I continued. I can’t tell them why, no, they wouldn’t understand.

The girl with the brown hair met my gaze, her eyes clawing into me. I was at a loss for words. That is until one of the hall monitors approached the table. "What’s going on here?"

First, the lady looked at me, then she shifted her stare to the other kids on the opposite side of the table. The blatant snickering from that half the table silenced almost immediately. The girl with brown hair grabbed a strand of her hair to twirl, "nothing."

I couldn’t believe that was all she said. I further couldn’t believe that the hall monitor accepted her words - no - her word and went on.

I looked back at my food, refusing to touch it.

On the bus ride back home, I brainstormed ways to explain to my mom why I hadn’t eaten the food she prepared for me. Deep down, I knew she’d be disappointed in me, but I didn’t know what for. Would she be upset I didn’t eat, or didn’t stand up for myself?

I swallowed as I found myself robotically walking into my house. As the door opened, I could hear my mom yell from across the house, "Hey honey, how was your day?"

Her voice echoed across the room, and her footsteps followed. My heart only began to pound more as I let out a "It was fine."

Instinctively, she took my lunch box to empty it; I had a bad habit of never doing that. I watched her do this, bracing myself for the confrontation that was about to occur.

"You didn’t eat?" Her voice shifted to one of concern, and her eyes darted at me for an explanation.

I knew I couldn’t lie to my mom as I felt the tears coming on, "I-I couldn’t eat… these kids, they- they were making fun of my food- and-"

My mother knelt down to me and took my shoulders, "Caleb," her voice wasn’t mad, "you should never be ashamed of who you are, do you hear?"

I nodded, gaining control of my emotions, "but, but they don’t understand."

"And?" My mother looked into my eyes, "they don’t have to. You should never be ashamed of who you are, or what you believe in, Caleb. The only person you need to please is Him."

I nodded, suddenly feeling foolish about this whole ordeal.

"Don’t you ever let someone persuade you into doing something that goes against you, and what you believe in. Don’t you ever feel ashamed, Caleb."

Her words echoed over and over in my head. I turned my head to look outside at the drowning grass. In a world full of inconsistencies, it occurred to me that there is one thing that remains constant: God.

You can never have too little of Him, nor too much of Him. Perhaps He is the balance that we need in life. That, as my mother reminded me, is nothing to be ashamed of.