We had moved twice in the past year, and this was the second school I had been in since the school year had begun. It seemed that my father had problems finding work, and had been laid-off several times. Prior to our second move, my mom told me that we were being kicked out of the house because we couldn’t pay our rent, but things were bound to get better. I shrugged, and went outside to play. Anyway, back to the nutty-buddy obsession. After begging my mom for the upteenth time for money to purchase a nutty-buddy cone at lunchtime, and being gently sent away, I decided that I would be joining my girlfriends in devouring a frozen treat with them, no matter what! My plan was to take one of the girls’ lunch money out of her desk during show and tell time. While Mrs. Urich was busy in leading the class through show and tell, I decided to launch "operation ice cream cone" into action. I informed Mrs. Urich that I had to go to the bathroom, and on my way to the restroom, went into freckled-face, red-headed Judy’s desk, and stole 75 cents. My mind was racing; not only was I going to be able to eat a luscious ice cream cone, I would have money left over to purchase a magic-marker in the school store! Upon returning to the show and tell circle, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, but was really looking forward to lunchtime.
Show and tell seemed to go on forever, but finally it ended. It was now time for lunch, and we began to line up. I noticed Judy searching frantically around in her desk, looking for her money. She ran up to the teacher, and informed her that her money was missing. She and Mrs. Urich went back to her desk to look for the missing quarters. I began to feel nervous, and my legs were shaking as I played with the shiny, new quarters in my sweater pocket.
In the meantime, Mrs. Urich and Judy came back, and Mrs. Urich asked to see everyone’s lunch money. As she walked down the line, I held out my hand with the three quarters in my palm (which was now sweating.) Judy exclaimed, "Those are my quarters! She never has money for lunch, she’s poor!!" My ears and face burned with embarrassment, as I defiantly stood there and hotly denied their accusations. I could feel Mrs. Urich’s eyes staring down at me, but I maintained my innocence. Since the thief (me) would not own up to stealing, Mrs. Urich gave Judy lunch money (but no ice cream money), and we headed down to the cafeteria. I promptly ran into line, and secured my coveted nutty-buddy ice cream cone. Under the critical and disapproving eyes of my classmates, I could barely choke down my long awaited treat, but finished it nevertheless.
Upon returning to our classroom, I was promptly summoned to the teacher’s desk. She was an extremely kind woman, and I hated to lie to her. When asked if I took the money, I immediately admitted that I did, and began crying. She comforted me, and told me that I would have to apologize to Judy. I went back to my desk, mumbled an apology, and cried. The girls were not as sympathetic as Mrs. Urich, and they began to call me names that focused on my frumpy and shabby clothes, and recent acts of thievery. Not only did I procure the label of "poor" that day, I was considered a thief as well. I know this past year has been difficult for my daughter. During the present school year, we have moved twice, and she has been in two different schools. I really think Tish is having a hard time adjusting to her new surroundings. She seems withdrawn from the family, and has no interest in making friends.
I guess I have my husband to thank for the predicament we are in; he has quit or been fired from six jobs in the past year. His constant lack of steady employment is due to his on-going love- affair with alcohol. Most of the time, after an all-night bender, he does not even attempt to wake up in the morning for work, so I usually have to call his latest employer, and make up some kind of excuse as to why he won’t be coming in to work for the fourth time that week. Eventually, his bosses catch on, and put him on probation, or give him a final warning. My husband doesn’t give a shit about these warnings, and it’s just a matter of time until he is fired. There is always some kind of lame excuse as to why he has quit or gotten fired, these include: the boss doesn’t like him, his co-workers are assholes, the pay is too low, the work is "beneath" him, or if I was a better wife, he would be able to keep a job. He always assures me that, "I can find another job, no problem, just leave me alone, and quit buggin’ me." Yeah right, the reason we had to move the last time is because he hasn’t worked in two months, and we were evicted from our home. We are now living in public housing that is subsidized by the government. This place looks like it has been hit by a bomb. It is so run down and dirty, and is in one of the worst neighborhoods in South Philadelphia. The public school system is so bad in this area, that I have decided to find a school in the suburbs for Tish to attend. Just shortly after I enrolled Tish in Woodland Elementary School, our car broke down. So, now I take Tish to school on the public bus system, and pick her up in the afternoon using public transportation. I spend at least four hours per day riding that filthy, disgusting bus, but giving my daughter a chance for a better education makes it well worth it.
So, taking all of this into consideration, it is no surprise to me that she stole 75 cents from one of her classmates. I knew something was wrong when we came home form the long, afternoon bus ride, and she didn’t want her usual snack of a peanut butter and pickle sandwich. When asking her what was wrong, she became very quiet, and went into her room. Soon after this, I received a phone call from Mrs. Urich, her teacher. She informed me that Tish swiped 75 cents from her classmate, so she could purchase an ice cream cone at lunch. After apologizing to her, and offering to pay back the money, we hung up. I began thinking about the difficulties my daughter has faced with trying to fit in, and that need to fit in was the driving force behind the theft of the money. How can you explain to a child that finding the money for an ice cream cone was the least of your worries, when in all reality, you don’t know where your next meal is coming from?
It’s bad enough that she has to wear clothes that are constantly being re-patched, and shoes that are way too small for her growing feet. She really does stick out from her classmates. This was made crystal clear when I took her to her first day of school. All the kids were being dropped off in late- model cars. I also took note of their attire. These families were dressed impeccably, and their beautiful clothes made me ashamed to be seen. Tish and I looked like we shopped as Goodwill, while everyone else looked like they stepped out of a bandbox. This was clearly an affluent school district, and I vowed that no one would ever know that we were living in a housing project.
I did give a stern talking to Tish about stealing, and gave her a mild punishment of not being able to watch her favorite cartoon, Speed Racer, for an entire week. I really did not want to be too harsh with her, as these last six months have been very trying for her. All I want is for my daughter to be happy, and to fit in with her peers. I want her to feel secure, and not to have to worry about "adult" things like money and shelter. However, it seems like things are not getting any better for my family; my still unemployed husband sits around all day and gets drunk (he has no intention of getting a job), and I have recently found out that I am pregnant with my second child. I don’t know what is going to happen to us; we can’t afford to feed the three of us, how can we possibly feed a fourth mouth? Sometimes I wonder how I got myself into such a mess. I never thought my life would turn out like this. While living in the ghetto, I never felt like I fit in. Most of the kids were African-American and Hispanic, and told me numerous times that they didn’t want to play with a "dirty white girl." When I went to school in the suburbs, it was like going to a different world. Most of the kids in the school were white, but came from middle to upper-class backgrounds. I was also teased and left out of functions (birthday and slumber parties), because of my "low economic" status. The straddling of these borderlands presented a great deal of confusion for me. I had one foot in the ghetto, and one in suburbia. The differences of race and class became clearly evident in both worlds, and it was clear that there was not a place for me on either side of the "border."
It’s funny how such a small event that occurs during your childhood affects so many facets of your life and who you turn out to be. The stigma of being poor followed me throughout my high school years. I vowed to myself that when I graduated from high school, I would do whatever it took to escape poverty. Most of my friends had plans to go to college. I couldn’t be bothered with that . I worked three jobs at one time. I always made sure that I gave my mother some money (she was still with my father, who was now a full-blown alcoholic, and was becoming increasingly violent.) I wanted my mom to be able to save enough money so she could leave my father. I kept up my breakneck schedule for two years, and built up a nice nest egg. I moved out, and got my own place.
I finally settled into one job; I worked for one of the major airlines. My income increased, as did my spending habits. Vacations, a new car, tons of clothes, and other "expenditures" made me soon realize that my expensive tastes were far exceeding the wage I was making. I began to receive credit card offers in the mail. This was great! I could still hang out with my friends, and go to all those great places on the weekend. Not long after, I received my very own visa card in the mail. I thought this was my ticket to happiness and acceptance. I began to break my card in right away. To me, this was "free" money. It was so easy to whip out my card, and presto, instant gratification! My credit line increased, and I was fast to max out my card. I was constantly paying for my friends’ dinners, and buying them expensive presents. I thought that "buying" people would endear me to them, and that possessions and the facade I was presenting would erase my impoverished past. I began to acquire several cards, and was shocked to realize that I had 10 credit cards that were completely maxed out! I was in TROUBLE! Before long, my monthly payments become too much for me to pay. I was deep in financial trouble, and too proud and ashamed to tell anyone.
I considered bankruptcy, but quickly decided against it. Over the course of six long years, I slowly paid off my cards. I have realized that instead of spending money to ease the pain of my past, I should look upon my past as a marking stick, and realize just how far I have come.
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