The First Sprout

A Ditto moment

The Boy Who Met a Strawberry

— as told by Derek

One of the things I love most about teaching is that I never know when a lesson is going to become something much bigger.

Recently, I was visiting one of the schools where I teach, talking with a group of sixth graders about something that still amazes me every time I see it. We were learning how we can grow food from the food we already have. We talked about seeds, where they hide, and how something as small as a seed can become something that feeds an entire family.

When we got to strawberries, I explained that the seeds are actually on the outside. To make the lesson a little more memorable, I passed out fresh strawberries for everyone to try.

That's when I noticed one little boy. He wasn't reaching for his strawberry. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't even curious. He was staring at it as if someone had handed him an object from another planet.

I walked over and encouraged him to give it a try. Quietly, he looked up at me and said, 'I've never had a strawberry.'

For a second, I thought maybe I misunderstood him. 'Is it because you're allergic?' I asked. He shook his head. 'You just don't like them?' Another shake of his head. Then he said something I'll never forget. 'I've just never had one.'

As we kept talking, I learned he had never really eaten fresh vegetables either. The only lettuce he'd ever had was the kind that came on a burger—and he always picked it off. Tomatoes? Picked off too. No fresh vegetables. No fresh fruit. Nothing. This was a sixth grader.

I won't lie. It took everything in me not to cry right there in front of those students. It didn't make sense. This wasn't my child. I wasn't responsible for what he had or hadn't been given. And yet... I felt this overwhelming sense of responsibility anyway.

Maybe it's because I saw myself. He grew up where I grew up. He walked the same streets. He attended schools connected to the same community that shaped me. A generation separates us, but in that moment, we weren't all that different.

That's why Ditto Foods exists. Not just to grow food. To grow access. To grow opportunity. To create moments where a child meets something for the very first time—not because it's rare, but because someone cared enough to make it available.

A Ditto Moment is exactly that. It's the moment life gives you an opportunity to give something back. It's an agreement we make with ourselves that the blessings we've received won't stop with us. We'll pass them on. We'll create access where there wasn't any. We'll open doors someone else has never been able to walk through.

Sometimes a Ditto Moment looks like building a farm. Sometimes it looks like teaching a class. And sometimes... It looks like standing beside a little boy as he meets a strawberry for the very first time.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally took a bite. The smallest bite imaginable. So small, I don't think it was even enough to reach a taste bud, let alone let him experience the sweetness that makes a strawberry so special.

But that's okay. Because every journey has a first bite.

Maybe that tiny bite won't change his life overnight. Maybe it will. The point is, someone has to plant the first seed.

I hope this week you find your own Ditto Moment. It doesn't have to be big. It just has to belong to someone else before it belongs to you.

— Derek

Got a Ditto moment? A small thing that happened in your community that felt like the point? Send it in. We'll feature one every issue.