Chasing Experiences

I grew up with seven siblings in a small three-bedroom home. Seven girls and one boy; I’m number six in the lineup. My dad worked for the city and my mom stayed home to take care of us. To say we were poor is an understatement. Back to school shopping consisted of one new pair of shoes to last us all year and one new outfit. My wardrobe was mostly hand-me-downs since I was the 6^th girl. We weren’t allowed seconds at mealtimes. You got what you got, and you didn’t complain. My dad was always working or out playing basketball with friends. He didn’t spend much time at home. My mom spent most of her time on our couch reading romance novels. It didn’t occur to me until I was an adult that she must have been depressed for years. I couldn’t imagine being in my thirties, stuck at home with eight children and an absent partner.

My parents ended up divorcing when I was seven. My two younger siblings and I stayed with my mother. We moved and switched schools several times before we settled at my grandmother’s house when I was in the 7^th grade. I was a very introverted child so switching schools was always a big struggle for me. Making friends didn’t come easy so when I did find people to connect with, I always became upset when I had to leave them and start all over with a new group of kids.

Financial help from the government was such a normal concept for us as children, we didn’t know anything different. I thought most families were on section 8 and I couldn’t wait for the 1^st of the month when my mom received her new food stamp book. It meant we would have a full refrigerator and we could walk to the gas station around the corner to buy candy cigarettes with one of the single dollar food stamps that I knew my mom would give us. For those of you that don’t know, food stamps did not always automatically disburse on to a debit card. We received a booklet that always reminded me of monopoly money because of all the different colors. My younger, innocent mind thought of it as our book of colors. I thought it was awesome.

I eventually learned how poor we were, and food stamps quickly became a source of stress and resentment. Being a teenager in a small town where everyone knows each other was tough on its own. Having to buy groceries with food stamps at the only grocery store in town where your high school friends worked as cashiers… well, that was its own kind of teenage torture.

Our financial instability didn’t only come in the form of government help and to help you understand how poor we were, I feel I have to share detailed memories.

There was a time my family lived in a small house built by my grandpa that had no running water. This house was maybe 800 sq ft with two small bedrooms. My oldest sister lived with us at the time with her three young children, so it was a total of eight people residing in what I like to call ‘the shack’. We had to walk or drive half a mile to my grandmother’s house to take a shower. Good times.

As a teen, I was quite embarrassed of my home life. I didn’t invite friends over. I insisted on waiting at my grandmother’s house to be picked up by the school bus because I didn’t want people to see where we lived. I hated grocery shopping with our food stamps. I was ashamed of the fact that I didn’t want to ask my parents for money for a prom dress, so I pretended that I didn’t want to go. I hated being poor.

This is not being written to criticize my parents or for people to feel sorry for me. On the contrary, I actually feel sorry for those who have grown up with no hardships to overcome. My mother and father grew up with their own obstacles, but their stories are not mine to share.

I can say we never needed anything, and I am grateful for that. They managed to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. My mother gave us all the hugs and we never questioned her unconditional love for us. My father has always been there when we needed him most. That is so much more than what some other children in the world receive.

This is only the first part of my story. Believe it or not, I am grateful for my upbringing. My siblings and I had a childhood consisting of climbing trees and running barefoot outside, building new worlds with our imaginations and no worries. They are (and will always be) my best friends.

Now I smile when I think of our book of colors. It’s a mental representation of my childhood which I consider to be the source of my strength and resilience. Now I hold a totally different book of colors that presents itself as a mind full of possibilities. And you can’t put a price on that.