I’m a nursing faculty member teaching undergraduates. Each week, during our long lecture, I bring a few dozen bananas to class for students to help themselves during the break. The first time I did this, the students looked at each other, then at me, then back at the bananas, uncertain if this was a trick, a test, or perhaps a practical joke. Soon enough, little yellow crescents were in many hands, and the room felt lighter. Someone made a joke about a “potassium-fueled pathophysiology.”
Why bananas?
You might wonder, why bananas? To some, it’s just fruit. To me, it’s nourishment with purpose. A 2024 study by the Hope Center for College, Community, and Justice found that nearly half of all college students experienced food insecurity in the prior 30 days. Offering bananas to my students isn’t a solution, but it’s my modest attempt to show I care. Other faculty bring chocolates and candies (I sometimes do, but bananas are less expensive). Bananas are a smart nutritional choice. Rich in potassium (around 400 mg per medium banana), they support cardiovascular health by helping to regulate blood pressure and maintain fluid and electrolyte balance. The fiber helps digestion, and the natural sugars offer a gentle energy boost just when students need it most, mid-lecture. Also, bananas are portable, require no utensils or refrigeration, and for many students, they provide a taste of home. Beyond nutrition, the act of reaching for and enjoying this fruit mid-lecture subtly reinforces what we teach in nursing: sustainable self-care starts with accessible, simple habits.
Social offering
Food carries meaning far beyond calories. Anthropologists and sociologists have long noted its role as a social offering. Breaking bread together, or in this case, peeling something together, creates connection. In class, that communal moment might last only a few minutes, but it transforms a long, possibly draining lecture into something warmer, more human. I encourage students to take more than one banana and to offer extras to someone in the classroom they haven’t met.
Shared food promotes socialization and signals relationship-building. In those minutes, I’m not just an instructor; I’m a fellow traveler in their nursing journey. Even in a large lecture hall, a piece of fruit can create moments of community. One of my colleagues once asked what my weekly banana budget was. The answer: about three dozen bananas cost me roughly $12.00. Since I walk to work and don’t pay for parking or subway fare, I think of it as my “transportation budget”—only instead of getting me to campus, it helps my students get through class.
Not about praise, but about presence
I understand how this could be misread. Is the banana a bribe? A performance? Not at all. I’m not seeking recognition. It’s a quiet offering, a way of saying to my students, “You belong here.” Through this simple gesture, the lesson transcends the curriculum: generosity sometimes arrives in yellow peels, unassuming and comforting. I bring bananas to class, not for praise or billing, but to share.
In colleges and universities, there’s renewed emphasis on relationship-rich education. Felten and Lambert suggest that faculty, staff, and administrators foster a climate of relentless welcome. We ought to make all students feel welcome at every encounter, not just on orientation day. Going around the room offering bananas to my students gives me the opportunity to learn and remember their names, personally congratulate those who did well in exams, check in with them personally, nudge them to show up for office hours, and encourage them to connect with the person sitting next to them. A diploma is the student’s ticket to a career; learned social diplomacy is what will make them successful—in nursing and in life.
Teamwork in Tupperware
Across nursing units in the United States, an unspoken tradition exists: the impromptu potluck. Someone always brings food to share. There’s the ubiquitous adobo and lumpia if you happen to work with Filipino nurses. These gatherings happen year-round, but especially during the holidays. Food becomes more than sustenance, it’s the glue of camaraderie, a sign that you’re not alone on your shift.
I’ve long believed that nurses who eat together, nurse better together. A hungry team can’t really do good work. A famished nurse would be a disaster to patient outcomes. This is why we feed each other, literally and symbolically, so we can better care for others. By bringing bananas to class, I’m offering my students a tiny preview of that culture, a taste of the way nurses look after each other. And maybe, one day, when my students are nurses pulling a four-in-a-row shift, they’ll remember the Thursday morning bananas, and offer something of their own.
Fidelindo Lim, DNP, CCRN, FAAN is a Clinical Associate Professor at New York University Meyers College of Nursing.
