I come from “good stock.” These are my childhood memories from Summertime vacations at Grandma’s in the mountains of EasternTennessee:
They were poor as church mice, maybe poorer, 'cause church mice eat 'regular'. They had no running water–had to haul it by the buckets from a spring a mile away, deep into the woods. It was the coldest, cleanest, sweetest water I’ve ever tasted. There was also a well behind the house from which they drew bucketsful. That water was full of iron, didn’t taste nearly as good, but it was lots more convenient. Either way, if you went for a drink at night, you had to be mindful to check for spiders, or worse yet, scorpions, in your tin ladle of water drawn out of a bucket out on the back porch. There was no indoor plumbing– I hated that outhouse and therefore frequently opted to pee in the bushes. There was a cast iron cookstove in the kitchen and the house was heated by a big fireplace in the living room–as a child, I thought carrying in firewood was great fun. Our beds were huge feather beds. You’d sink deeply into them, and be nearly enveloped by the mattress. We were kept warm by the quilts hand stitched by Grandma.
I’ve watched my grandmother plow the fields behind a workhorse. I’ve collected eggs from underneath hens in a hot, dark, stinky and scarey henhouse. I’ve even walked the many miles into ‘town’ to work with my grandmother cleaning offices for a few dollars. As a child, I thought it was a special privilege to be thought big enough to work alongside my Grandma.
You see, I come from hard-working people. Poor? You betcha! But they were proud people and instilled with the work ethic that built this country. Their shirts and pants might have been mended and patched, but they were never dirty, other than from that day’s toil. They stood tall and strong, heads held high with a dignity that comes from a life filled with good choices.
They spent what money they had very carefully. No person in my family frittered away hard-earned money on things like cigarettes or alcohol. Even if they wanted to, the walk to the store was too far to go fetch ‘em. They didn’t have cars, either. My people walked everywhere they went.
My mother was raised in this lifestyle, and spent her youth absolutely convinced there was an easier life for her, "out there somewhere." The day after she graduated high school, she boarded a Greyhound bus and headed to the closest big city she knew of. She never turned back, and through sheer determination formed a life for herself.
Because of her steely fortitude, I grew up never knowing what being poor actually meant. Because of her gumption and backbone, I've never been hungry a day in my life.
I tell you all this because I have little patience or empathy when I hear about how downtrodden poor people are. Life is hard, and, yes, life is harder without money. However, I also am fully aware how rich and rewarding, not to mention healthy, a life filled with hard work and meager means can be.
Rich or poor, life is what you make it.
Edited because I found a typo. They bug.
Strive for respect instead of attention. It lasts longer.
Blogs & Forums
