Those of you who have perused the ponderings in this place may remember On Being “Wealthy”. It therefore seems reasonable to also think about growing up “poor” in our country, and to ruminate on long-term effects.
I have never felt rich; and I have never felt poor. But I must concede that my family actually was poor: a single mother supporting her three children and her elderly mother on what she could earn—without alimony, child support payments, or any form of public assistance.
Many people have confessed that when they were growing up they didn’t know their family was poor because everyone in the neighborhood was poor. I guess I was too dense to reason that everyone in our vicinity was not exactly affluent. Of course, the rented house and the neighborhood we lived in was not upper class in any manner. Therefore it is a reasonable assumption that at least a few of our neighbors were also poor. However, my sisters and I were a bit perceptive and we could detect a few differences in standards of living between families.
Our mother was, of course, eligible for Aid For Dependent Children (AFDC) in our state. But she believed that such public support programs were like steam boiler pressure-relief valves: a last-resort safety mechanism. She was also aware that not signing up for that particular welfare initiative precluded limited assistance for medical and dental care or eye exams and glasses. Even on those dark-moment occasions when another of our not-too-rare serious financial hurdles was facing us (such as another of the occasional eviction pending notices) she still held that those support programs were intended for “people who needed them more than we do”. I never thought of my mother as a particularly strong person, but on reflection I believe she must have had either a substantial reserve of self-confidence or the optimism of a problem-solver that a solution can always be found.
On a practical, day-to-day basis, life for us children was probably not much different from that of most children in middle class families, families that would not have been categorized as “poor”. I don’t remember any mealtimes with sparse food at home, and my sisters and I always had a sack lunch or cafeteria money at school. The content of our meals did not seem different from those of my neighborhood playmates: some number of meatless meals; less-expensive cuts when there was meat; common vegetables; corn bread or store-bought white bread; milk, iced tea or (rarely) soda pop; and only occasional desserts (Mother was convinced that sugar was the cause of cavities and other dental problems). Because our mother was working full-time, and as much overtime as available, our grandmother prepared most of the meals (and that is an essay of its own, waiting to be expressed).
Our financial coping strategy (although “strategy” implies more thought and planning than we actually expended) was most likely the same as that of all poor families. We avoided all of the expenditures that we could, and we postponed the inevitable costs as long we could possibly get by without the particular goods or services. Regular, preventive medical checkups were unknown to us—doctors or dentists (with the exception of early childhood vaccinations). Shoes, which were worn only during the school year, could be made to suffice with homegrown patches as needed, until the point where our feet could no longer be stuffed into them. Clothing could be patched, be let out to its maximum extent, have legs or sleeves cut off for summer casual, and the fading of so many washings could be ignored. Of course, we took maximum advantage of parks and public libraries and anything else that was free and within walking distance.
My memory today of things we were “deprived of” (if that is correct terminology) is of mostly small “extras”; my older sister and I accepted this as normal (there was five years age difference between each of us, so I did not experience the leanest years, and our younger sister even less, from the same perspective). Fashion was certainly not an issue for a boy in that time: blue jeans, long- or short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of (barely) presentable shoes—tennis shoes were not yet ubiquitous. A sport coat, or a suit, was almost unheard of in my neighborhood at that time. What about my older sister? I confess to being so self centered and fashion-ignorant that I didn’t notice; but I don’t remember her and our mother huddled in any serious clothing finance councils. Living in a family of women, I did get (via osmosis?) that girls thought more in terms of mix and match, and coordinated components, rather than in complete outfits off the rack
Another condition that my sister and I accepted as normal was that we had some, albeit limited, capacity to earn money. Babysitting was a natural for her, and mowing lawns (with our manual push mower) was a possibility for me. In addition, collecting discarded soft drink bottles to return for their two-cent deposit was a means of financing occasional movies, do-it-yourself toys and craft projects, or other small “luxuries”. Perhaps that is why I don’t recall very many disappointments caused by not conforming to the latest fads or owning the must-have “in” things. The thought that we had done our best probably also provided some degree of satisfaction.
Curiously, my sisters and I always assumed we would go to college, as if that were the normal, routine thing for all children. I don’t recall any anxieties, or even any substantive discussions, about financing a college education. As it worked out, we went to college just like a lot of other students had done for many generations, using various scholarships, part-time jobs, full-time summer employment, and desperation-enforced frugality.
As I mentioned, postponing expenditures as long as possible was a way of life for all of us—clothing, shoes, household items, etc. Looking back, I can see that at times I was entirely too literal. For example, at some point in the primary grades I realized that my eyesight was changing, and that I would eventually need glasses. But it seemed perfectly logical to me to wait until I really needed glasses to admit my problem. Besides, I reasoned, all I had to do was ask the teacher in each class to seat me in the front row because I had difficulty reading the blackboard from the rear of the room. I also knew I could beat the periodic eyesight screening checks held in the schools: just memorize the placement of the letters in the eye chart while in line waiting for my turn. But this strategy was not altogether satisfactory; some teachers were completely inflexible in their seating schemes. One result was that I barely squeaked by in junior high school algebra, not to really catch up in algebra until the time of differential calculus in college.
Another bit of shortsightedness I used to blame on being poor, until I was forced to admit to myself that it was just my own bad decision. The College Board Scholastic Aptitude Tests were nigh when I found out we had to pay for them—as I recall, about $6.00 in those days. I must have reverted to third-grade reasoning, deciding not to spend the equivalent of almost a week’s worth of school lunches on some bureaucratic test. At least one result was that I thereby ensured myself of no possibility of competing for a National Merit Scholar slot or receiving any potential scholarship value that might come out of a decent test score.
When I look back and contrast today’s pervasive government quilt of “safety net” social services with the situation at the time I was growing up, I wonder what long-term effects the absence of those entitlements had on my contemporaries and me. But in our politically-incorrect time, though, we had one unknown (to us at that time), but highly beneficial, modification to our environment.
From junior high on, students were assigned to classes on the basis of their IQ scores. I suppose that approach was just another pop-psychology initiative to ward off damage to our delicate psyches. But the most value to me was the resulting environment, where children from the richest side of town mingled with those from the poorest side. I really don’t remember ever being jealous of any fellow student’s advantages of affluence: vacations, travel, private lessons for sports, music, ballroom dancing, etc. In fact, what I still feel good about today was being able to vicariously share in the richness of the collective experiences of my classmates. Without implying that my teachers did not accomplish their goals, I still believe the preponderance of my total learning in high school came from my classmates.
Another positive, in my opinion, was our learned tendency to to first begin a search for solutions to our personal problems, turning elsewhere only after exhausting our own store of potential remedies. I also believe that my own problem-solving failures usually were caused by my reluctance to ask some knowledgeable person for advice (shyness is definitely a minor form of disability).
In some slight way, growing up poor was like a right of passage, from dependent child to independent, moderately confident adult for my sisters and me; I suspect the same was true for a number of our contemporaries.
Posted by thedrake01