A Moment To Weep

“Being poor is finding the letter your mom wrote to your dad, begging him for the child support.

Being poor is hoping you'll be invited for dinner.

Being poor is deciding that it's all right to base a relationship on shelter.“

I’d like to add - Being poor is hoping that the rescuers in the helicopter will still save you even though you don’t have any money to pay for a "ticket".

Check the cynicism, idealism, naivety, pettiness and smartassiness at the door for just ten minutes and read the rest of it, including the comments.

ADDENDUM

The writer of Being Poor, John Scalzi, grew up poor and wrote from that experience. His list touched so many that other accounts of personal experience continue to pour into his comment box. Here are some of the more harrowing ones.

"Being poor is having your father beg the electric company to turn the lights back on, because it's your birthday.

Being poor is being afraid to lose a pound because you won't be able to afford new clothes.

I could go on, but I might start crying. Thank you, thank you for this, and
everyone for their comments. I feel less alone right now."

"Being poor means being 12 and never telling your mother that her boyfriend
is inappropriately touching you because you know he's paying the rent. "

"Being poor is taking your bra off as soon as you get home from work so it'll last longer, because it's more expensive than your shirt."

"Being poor is wearing your brother's hand-me-down underwear, even though you are a girl."

"Being poor is protecting your children from knowing you're poor."

That last one is familiar. Not to me personally, but someone I know. I remember being privately aghast when visiting that someone's home for the first time - "You live in low-cost housing?".

Turns out, it's actually mid-cost housing. What would I know of the difference, priviliged as I am. She'd also had, as I discovered, a set of school uniforms that were purchased to last the entire 5 years of secondary school.

How did you feel, growing up like that, given where you are today? I asked, insensitively. Naturally.

"I guess I never grew up thinking that we were poor".

Her parents did a good job.

When I was a child, I lived on the 1st floor of a pre-war shophouse on the main street in town. We were never poor, but the neighbours certainly were. The kids freely came upstairs to our place quite often, so I'm told.

Once, Mum came out of the kitchen to find one of those scruffy (this is a factual adjective, NOT an indictment) kids sitting beside my very white and clean brother watching him eat porridge and meat floss (is this what bak kua translates into??). As my brother chewed and then discarded gobs of suck-dried floss, the boy grabbed for the cast-offs and popped them into his mouth.

God, what an image. Suffice to say that that particular child was given his own bowl of porridge and meat floss after Mum's discovery.

Poverty is just outside our homes. And sometimes, right inside.

If only we would see it.