I don’t know how to start this, which is probably not the best way to start a first post on a Substack that’s supposed to be about service, impact, and the noble work of eradicating school lunch debt in Utah. But here we are. I don’t know how to start this because I’m still not entirely sure how we got here. And by “here,” I mean: HB100 passed. It passed. The bill that makes school lunch free for kids who qualify for reduced-price meals. The bill that says, in actual legal language, that schools can’t shame kids for being poor. The bill that says, “Hey, maybe let’s not make a seven-year-old mop the cafeteria floor to earn their spaghetti.” That bill. It passed. In Utah. And I had something to do with it.
I’m not saying I’m the reason it passed. That would be arrogant, and also inaccurate, and also not a great look for someone who still doesn’t know how to properly file a 990 form without Googling “how to file a 990 form” and then immediately closing the tab because it made me feel like I was being chased by the IRS in a dream. But I did help. I showed up. I emailed. I advocated. I asked other people to email and advocate. I annoyed people, which, as it turns out, is a surprisingly effective form of advocacy.
But before we get to the part where I stood in the Capitol’s Gold Room and tried not to sweat through my shirt while listening to the Governor’s speech, let me back up and explain why this Substack exists.
It exists to document my progress towards zero lunch debt. Zero. That’s the goal. That’s the dream. That’s the thing I say out loud at meetings and then immediately regret because it sounds impossible, and people don’t like impossible. They like “measurable” and “scalable” and “impactful,” which are all just ways of saying “please don’t make me feel uncomfortable about how broken the system is.” But I’m not here to make anyone comfortable. I’m here because a kid in Utah shouldn’t have to go hungry, or worse, be humiliated, for something they can’t control.
So, what is this Substack going to be? It’s going to be a peek behind the curtain of running a nonprofit, which is a lot like being handed a Rubik’s Cube that’s already on fire. It’s going to be updates on our progress, our failures, our weird little victories. It’s going to be stories, some funny, some not, about what it means to try and do something good in a world that is very, very good at pretending it doesn’t need fixing.
Let’s start with a win. Let’s talk about HB100.
HB100 is officially called the “Food Security Amendments,” which is the kind of name that sounds like it was generated by an AI trained on oatmeal. But inside that bland title is something quietly radical: it makes lunch free for kids who qualify for reduced-price meals. Another way of saying it is, “The kids who are poor but not poor enough to get free lunch now get free lunch.“ It’s a start.
The bill also says schools can’t shame students who can’t pay. No more stamping “MONEY DUE” on a kid’s hand like they’re a piece of overdue mail. No more sending debt letters home in the kid’s backpack like a little paper grenade. Instead, communication goes to the parent. The adult. The person who, in theory, has the bank account and the agency to do something about it.
It also encourages schools to reduce food waste. You’d be amazed how many unopened apples and untouched cartons of milk end up in the trash every day. HB100 says, “Hey, maybe let’s not do that.” It suggests share tables, places where kids can leave food they don’t want so other kids can take it. It’s not revolutionary. It’s just humane.
And while the bill doesn’t appropriate new money (because why make things easy?), it does allow the State Board of Education to reimburse schools for the cost difference between reduced-price and free meals, if the legislature allocates the funds. That’s a big “if,” but it’s a start. And starts matter.
So besides advocating for bills, what does UTLDR do?
The Utah Lunch Debt Relief Foundation has raised $50,000 so far. That’s not a lot in the grand scheme of things, but it’s enough to wipe out lunch debt in 12 schools. Twelve. That’s twelve front offices that don’t have to make awkward phone calls. Twelve sets of lunch ladies who don’t have to play debt collector. Twelve groups of kids who get to eat without shame.
And I still have no idea what I’m doing.
I didn’t go to nonprofit school. I didn’t minor in grant writing. I don’t know how to schmooze donors over cocktails or build a board of directors that looks good in a photo. I’m just a guy who got tired of hearing stories about kids crying in lunch lines.
So when I say we passed HB100, I don’t mean “we” like the royal we. I mean the messy, scrappy, unpaid-volunteer, duct-taped-together we. I mean the parents who emailed their legislators even though they didn’t think it would matter. I mean the teachers who told stories they weren’t supposed to tell. I mean Utahns Against Hunger, The Policy Project, Rep. Clancy, and the many others who worked on it.
And now that it’s passed, the question is: what next?
Because HB100 is not the finish line. It’s not even the halfway point. It’s a foothold. It’s a crack in the wall. It’s proof that the wall can be cracked. There’s still lunch debt in Utah. There are still kids who fall through the cracks because they’re just above the income threshold, or because their parents don’t fill out the forms, or because the system is designed to be confusing. There are still schools that don’t participate in the National School Lunch Program at all. There are still kids who go hungry.
So, we keep going.
We keep raising money. We keep paying off debt. We keep showing up at the Capitol in our best ill-fitting blazers, pretending we know what we’re doing. We keep telling stories. We keep being annoying in the most strategic, well-meaning way possible.
And I’ll keep writing. Here. On this Substack. Because if I’ve learned anything, it’s that people care more when they know what it looks like. What it feels like. What it costs. What’s possible.
So that’s what this is. A place to show you what’s possible.
Thanks for being here.
More soon.
- DJ