A Slight Recollection of Poverty

I lived in poverty during some of my childhood years. Here is what I mean by poverty. My family was either partially dependent or wholly dependent on outside help for food. I had one change of shabby clothing that needed to be washed every night until the clothing fell apart. My family often lived in dwellings smaller than a small suite at a modern hotel. Doctors were only for dire emergencies. I won’t labor more on defining the boundaries and or parameters of the condition.

I won’t talk about the other things such as how and why the condition would periodically come about. It is possible to be poor and consider oneself fortunate when bad events are scarce and not the everyday norm.

I was fortunate that I escaped poverty. I was born with above average intelligence, good health, and developed a strong body. After I graduated from high school I lived on modest means. The Marine Corps took care of me. I lived frugally while attending college.

I have a spotty work ethic, but I worked hard when I was motivated or inspired. I sometimes aggressively pursued promotions and recognition during my career to the exclusion of all other values and interests.

I have also been fortunate to be in the right place at the right time. Being a white male helped my chances.

I would mostly say my good fortune has rested with those people who cared for me and sacrificed for me, those who saw potential and something good in me even when I was at my worst, those who sponsored me and gave me opportunities even though they knew they were taking a chance by doing so, and those who befriended me even when I was not deserving.

I don’t recall accurately what it felt like to live in poverty as a child. My strong suit is forgetting, denying, escaping, and avoiding. I am a terrible memoirist when it comes to describing unpleasant things.

Whatever feelings or emotions I have about that time long ago are seldom relevant to my conscious life today. I have no access to the unconscious feelings that reside within me.

There is nothing like success to make one forget about one’s humble origins and travails. That is a sin. The only thing I have to say in my defense is some things are not any fun to remember.

I was watching the news last night. There was a story about two older black women, sisters, who lost their home during the Katrina flood. They live in one room without appliances in a hotel. They wait each month for the government to inform them how much longer they can live there.

I guess that is why I am remembering some things I have spent a lifetime trying to forget.