November
22, 2013
Money was not a topic of conversation
growing up in a household of eleven, sometimes twelve, sometimes several dozen
people in and out. I knew enough not to ask for cash to go to the movies, even
though the downtown theatre was .50 and we brought our own grocery bags of
popcorn to inhale during the show, lifting our feet from the floor since there
were rats in residence.
At ten, I was babysitting for the kids
down the road, had a job at 12 as a busser then carhop, responsible for
carrying the heavy root beer-laden mugs to the cars and counting to be sure the
customers were not stealing them from my dad. I was surly in confronting the
squirrely teens, crowded families-people who claimed they didn’t have any more
mugs in the car and when pressed, came up with several stragglers from under
the seat. I was skinny and tough and a bit lazy, if the truth be told, standing
with my hands in my corduroy pockets and poly orange top with brown trim. I
just wanted to be one of the big kids, going out for cheap donuts at the
factory after work. Little did I know just how much what you do reflects who
you turn out to be. If I could choose again, I would take more time to discover
what I was good at and explore more options prior to taking what was right in
front of me and convenient. I would be less apt to do what people expected of
me and ask to be included when I felt left out. I would not take things so to
heart and wear my heart on my sleeve.
I realize we were more well-off than I
thought,, with our own home, two cars in the driveway and most all nine of us
headed for college. Money was not the topic of conversation but neither was
being impoverished. There is a lot to be said for that.
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