Wheat Germ

After my father sold his drugstore in Queens, he began to work for a pharmacist who owned a store in a poor area in Brooklyn. His shift was from 4-10pm. One day a Black kid came in to buy something and my father noticed his pimply face. He told him that eating wheatgerm might help. The kid, about 16, didn’t know what wheatgerm was so my father offered to bring him some. The kid ate the wheat germ and his face began to clear up. After that, friends of his came into the store to ask my father’s advice, not only about their skin. He would listen, and if he could, suggest a remedy. 

One night, a kid my father didn’t recognize came into the store. Unlike the others, he didn’t talk to my father, just looked around. Suddenly, a group of boys my father knew came into the store, grabbed the stranger, and pulled him out of the store. Later, the “wheatgerm” kid came back in to tell my father the stranger had a gun and was prepared to rob and kill him. From that time on, there were always a few boys in the store to make sure my father was safe.

When I heard my father tell the story I thought about how his safety began by offering wheatgerm to a kid with bad skin. I wondered if my father telling the boy his face would clear up if he ate wheatgerm wasn’t a kind of magical thinking—a thought I kept to myself.

About a year later I started college. I was glad to be away from my family and happy to be on my own so perhaps you can imagine my shock when I began to feel anxious, then increasingly nervous, to the point where I was shaking. I decided to go to the infirmary. The doctor was so concerned he suggested I get medical treatment for a mental health problem. He thought I was suffering from what he called, “Freshman anxiety.” I was sure I wasn’t.

I called home. My father answered the phone. When I told him what was happening, he asked, “What are you eating?” A weird question.

“What they serve in the student dining room.”

I could hear his disdain as he asked: “White bread?” Yes. “White rice?” Yes. “Boiled vegetables?” Yes. “Fresh salad?” Not much. “Okay,” he said, “I know what’s wrong. Do not let them send you anywhere. You are not mentally ill. You’re suffering from a Vitamin B deficiency.” As he said this I remembered; at home we ate brown bread, brown rice, steamed vegetables, fresh salads. No boiled or fried foods. “I’m sending you a bottle of wheatgerm, special delivery, with directions about how much to take and when. It should come within a day.” 

Wheatgerm? The same remedy for the kid’s skin problems? I would have laughed had I not been so desperate. When the RA (resident assistant) came to check on me I lied, telling her, with as much calm as I could muster, that I was feeling better. She shrugged and said to let her know if I needed help. I managed to function, all the while watching for the mail delivery as if my life depended on it, which was how it felt.

When the package came, I followed the directions and took two tablespoons every two hours. Within a few hours the shaking stopped and I was less anxious. By the next day I felt better. Three days later I felt fine. Included in the package was a bottle of Vitamin B complex, with directions, which I began to take along with the wheat germ. The symptoms never returned.

Years later, when my young son refused to eat anything but applesauce, cottage cheese, and, I’m ashamed to admit, sausages from a can his father liked, I began making oatmeal cookies with wheatgerm. He loved the cookies. He soon began eating a wider range of food. I never stopped making cookies, breads and cakes with wheatgerm.

Wheatgerm. Who knew?

Have you found relief from an unlikely source?  If so, what was that like?

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June 2025 stories