I must have been 6 when my mom asked me to knock on the door across the hall. Two marines answered. I dutifully repeated what my mom told me, that if they could spare a few bucks she would give them a home-cooked meal. I didn't understand the weight of what I said. I didn't understand then how life-changing their saying yes was. I didn't go to bed hungry again for 5 years.

I was 15 when my school's football coach and SRO found drugs in my PE locker. You could tell it was my locker as one of my fellow students was nice enough to carve “FAG” into the painted steel mesh door. I sat in handcuffs in the coaches office while he told me that I would never amount to anything. I met with a public defender they negotiated a plea deal: 6 months in juvenile detention and they would drop intent to sell thus keeping me in juvenile court and not tried as an adult. I didn't go to bed hungry again for 6 months.

I was 16 when that same football coach watched me, now clean from drugs and fed, sprint to chase and tackle someone who stole my iPod shuffle. He hauled me into his office again, only this time to congratulate me. Jail was good for me. I got clean, I gained muscle, and most of all gained confidence. The school had me banned from extracurriculars for the year, but he told me to show up at football practices anyway, off the record. He eventually convinced the principle to relax a bit and let me be the team manager. The only times I went to bed hungry were when I fell asleep studying plays or doing homework.

I was 17 the first time I picked up a gear bag with my name on it. The team knew what I could do, we had practiced all the previous season and all summer. Now i was on the team. Walking out of that locker room though you could still see that locker, steel mesh dented where a key had run. Coach always grabbed my shoulder if he saw me staring at it, moving me along. It's rare I've gone to bed hungry since.

For the majority of my life, I haven’t gone to bed hungry. I haven’t cowered in fear. But I haven't been able to break away from those times I was. Like in that locker room, I catch myself staring at those times, those different versions of myself. My full belly tries to forget going to bed hungry scared and alone. But it can't. So, on nights like tonight, when the bourbon was plentiful and the conversation was deep, a part of me still hungers for something. 
 

My inner child demands it. So no, I will not feel bad about my 2 a.m. McDonald's 2 cheeseburger meal…