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Why I Drive for Meals on Wheels
Everyone is entitled to adequate nutrition, but some people need a little help from their friends.
I ring the doorbell and announce my presence. In a few moments Anita slowly shuffles around the corner with a big smile on her face. I wait patiently. After all, Anita is 99 years old, still living on her own in a neatly-kept condo. I open the screen door and hand the diminutive, white-haired woman a plastic bag containing her lunch. “I put a loaf of bread in there for you, Anita. I know you like the kind with seeds.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” she replies as she takes the bag. “I do love that bread.” Anita’s hands are full, so I close the door for her. I walk back to my car and drive to the next client’s home.
Anita is one of the sixteen clients I will serve today on my weekly Meals on Wheels route. Each Tuesday morning, I pick up prepared meals from a local senior center and drive a route in Milwaukie, Oregon, a Portland suburb, as I have for fourteen years.
I don’t know what motivates my fellow drivers to volunteer for Meals on Wheels, but I know why I drive. My father grew up during the Great Depression in a badly broken family. He told me when I was young that he would never send one of his children to bed without dinner as punishment, because he…
