Poor as a kid?

This thread brings up some memories for me. Good stuff. I also remember the government cheese, powdered milk, butter, peanut butter.

My mom moved six spanish kids away from an abusive father in a big city to a small, lily-white town. She busted her butt at two jobs to try and keep us fed, clothed and we all pitched in. There was a hunger about it all. Hard to describe. We were poor and knew it, but were happy. We had family.

The rest of the town was not so receptive to us. Daily fights for me and my brothers. Teasing of every racial slur you can think of. Because we were the only minorities in town, we encompassed every race to them....we got called everything from chink to the n-word to spic. Then when these hicks wanted to get creative, they'd call us mexican food names: tacos, burritos. Real Einsteins in this town.

Ah, but there was a way to get back. Sports. Those pricks shut their mouth when I put my helmet in their gut during football practice. It was a great equalizer.

I explain to my friends now in the professional world now about mayonnaise sandwhiches and bologna and cheese without bread. And not having enough money to buy cleats for baseball or football. It drive me harder to make sure my children have everything I didn't have.

And as someone else said, I'll always be a liberal in favor of government programs because of it. I don't care how much they take out of my taxes. If it wasn't for that help throughout my youth and teenage years ... well, I shudder to think what might have happened to me.

 

These stories are, all at once: 1) Heartbreaking; 2) Inspirational; 3) Therapeutic.

Wow... just, wow.

 

Am I the only one in the world who didn't think government cheese was bad? The powdered milk never bothered me either, because even when we had regular milk, it was skim, so I never really noticed the texture difference.

 

Macaroni and government cheese...delicious.

 

I remember my entire family chipping in so we could get one order of 20-piece nuggets.
And every now and then, my mom would treat us to steak for dinner. Not a steak for each of us, but one small steak for the whole family. We'd slice it up, place it in the middle of the table and it was first come, first served. But the rule was, you could only eat one slice at a time.
So, all of us enhaled our slice so that we could get another piece. Felt bad for my brother cause he was such a slow eater, though.

 

Veering slightly political but these stories are the reason why the US was viewed as a place of destination and a place to admire; because you could make a better place for you and your family through hard work and education.

Somehow, (I blame our arrogance in dealing with the world) we have lost that persona and we need to get it back if we are to avoid further acts of terrorism.

 

The poor parts of the stories still exist in this country, but no one will can talk about it because now you can lose your kids if the truth comes out about being that poor. The difference now is that fewer of the people who are trying to get by through working cannot qualify for help from the government because more money really is going into other countries, be it for warefare or feeding other hungry nations. It really sucks. I have a good friend who is a single mom of two boys. She works two jobs, is going to school herself and homeschools her boys. She's doing everything she can to make life better, yet she can't even get a little bit of help from the government to keep food on the table. On the other hand, understanding her struggles has made her boys some of the best kids I've ever known.

 

I just don't know how my mom struggled so mightily, but always managed -- at least when her kids were around -- to put a smile on her face and find a way to making dire situations seem OK.

For example, I can clearly remember one day how excited we were to have saltines for our ketchup soup.

Compared to what she endured and how her children have turned out (save for me, of course), I feel so unworthy.

 

Not dirt poor, but as I learned when I went to VERY EXPENSIVE PRIVATE college (loan and scholarships) with $200 total for books and all expenses my first semester (that I had saved myself) a $20 Sears cassette tape player, and five tapes recorded off the radio, I wasn't as middle class as I thought. My roomate immediately went out and bought a $500 stereo (and this was 30 years ago), and I met another kid who lived on a $2000/month stipend. I worked 20 hours a week in work study and got a part-time job on top of that, and had to drop out for semester halfway through to work. During break, they went and got tans and I worked as a janitor. When they went home over Thanksgiving I hid in the dorm with the lights off (we were not allowed to stay, but it was either that or hitchhike 700 miles). When they got the cool summer internships I worked as a laborer. When they went to grad school or to Europe after graduation I went back home and worked construction a week after graduating with honors, and basically worked two jobs for the next 13 years. Got stuck being homeless for 3-4 days once. Last year I got together with my brother and much younger sister and we looked at old family photos. Things had much improved by her time, but the old photos from when my brother and I were kids were heartbreaking - we all looked like dust bowl refugees - and I remember being sent around the house to scrounge for change from under furniture and in the couch so we could buy bread and milk, and in our house Santa Claus had a budget. My sister couldn't believe how clean and uncluttered the house was in the old photos. We had to tell her that was because our folks didn't have anything to put in it then - chair, couch, table - that was about it. But there were always people much worse off. I remember a friend coming over for dinner in high school and he was stunned that we had TWO kinds of salad dressing, and in elementary school quite a few kids wore the same clothes every day. I live in a poor area now and see the same stuff today.

The good thing? I found out early that I can work alot harder than the silver spooners.

 

Just a bit of levity, if it's OK, but I can remember Bill Cosby saying he was so poor his family had to borrow trash just to have something to set out on the curb on trash day.

 

That really does bug me. It's amazing what we're missing in our back yards every day because we're obligated to look at the big picture and help the rest of the world with problems. Really, a little bit of extra care towards our own communities goes a big way. I don't want to jack the thread though, so I said my piece there.

I don't think we were ever poor, necessarily, both of my parents had good jobs and worked hard for what we had. When I look around though, I appreciate them in a similar way. They may have a nice house now and they helped us a lot, but they always gave their full effort with work, saved every penny (no fancy trips or things for themselves, did their own landscaping, etc), and put us kids before us more than I would have ever realized.

It's amazing how good parenting builds your values and defines your life, regardless of social circumstance. My prayers are with you Colton and others, and I thank you for the chance to remember.

 

In Exile: You struck a chord with me... I remember having to wear the same two or three sets of clothes to school week in, week out. My mom was ahead of her time, though, because now I realize Charlie O. Finley wasn't the first one to mix and match three sets of uniforms a bunch of different ways.

These stories have warmed my heart a bit. Thanks to one and all for the thoughts and prayers, too. Uncle Mario was a great guy who lived a long, meaningful life. May he rest in peace.