Written @ 8:48 a.m. on 2007-04-25
Poor
I just read an article in Working Mother Magazine about 3 low income, hardworking mothers who are beating the odds. I didn't like this article.
First, I didn't find anything super special about these women. They work, they take care of their kids. No one was also taking care of the leper colony in her backyard, or anything. This is the same story of everyone I know. Maybe magazine editors don't know anyone living paycheck to paycheck, but in regular old blue collar's-ville, it's the norm. Secondly, all three were making about 30 thousand a year. That's about where I am, and I don't feel poor. I feel rich. (((Looking around the house for poor...checking under the bed))) I'm not poor! I have high speed internet!
Now, I don't want to make this into a "Honey, let me TELL you about poor..." kinda thing, but honey, let me tell you about poor. LOL!
I left my husband and went to a battered woman's shelter with two kids,ages 2 and 15 months, $0 and the clothes on my back. My husband stalked me to the shelter, so I moved into a crack hotel for a few weeks before I got an apartment. Living in a crack hotel is poor. Eating free sandwiches off the back of a truck sponsored by some nice church is poor. Not like, I ate a free sandwich for lunch. Eating ONLY a free sandwich once a day is poor. When the truck didn't come, not eating so that your children eat properly is poor. Choosing between buying cold medicine for the baby or bus fare to work is poor. Washing your clothes in the bathtub is poor. Breastfeeding for as long as possible because it will supplement the baby's diet is poor. Wearing 8 inch roots because you can't imagine wasting 6 bucks on a box of haircolor is poor. Being unable to be reached by a lawyer or a job or your mom because there is one payphone for the whole hotel to share is poor. Letting yourself get very sick because you can't walk to wait in line at the free clinic is poor. Hearing crackheads pound on the door because the dealer had your room last week is poor. Finding pools of blood on the stairs, and nobody calling the police is poor. That's the bad of poor. But it wasn't all misery.
Playing at the park is poor. Getting books from the library is poor. Teaching the babies all the words to "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" is poor. Picking wildflowers and putting them everywhere you look is poor. Collecting pretty rocks and making a rock museum is poor. Riding on Mama's shoulders is poor. Everybody snuggling under the covers together is poor. Giving your money to your neighbor who is worse off than you is poor. Working as hard as you can to move up and out is poor.
Now, I have savings. Not poor. Health insurance. Not poor. A car. Not poor. Internet. Not poor. New clothes. Not poor. Dinners in restaurants and dates at the movies. Not poor. Boohoo. Thirty thousand dollars.
America, what is wrong with us? What desperate need are we trying to fill with 72 inch tvs in the livingroom and gas guzzling hummers in the driveway? Sure, I like living where I am now much better than when I had nothing, but twelve pairs of jeans will not make me a better person.
If I had money, I'd buy a house and land, and put away lots for my children's education. For now, I'm in an apartment and I put away a little. The key is, for me, to be grateful every day and to keep working hard. My hummer will have to wait. Poor me.