Unwritten Rules of Being Poor
Feb. 9th, 2021 05:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
canyonwalkerAn article in Buzzfeed today caught my eye. People Are Revealing Their Unwritten Rules Of Being Poor, And It's A Must-Read If You've Always Lived Comfortably (9 Feb 2021). It's a listicle drawn from a Reddit discussion this week. One redditor asked people who grew up poor, "What were the unwritten expectations of your world growing up?"
The article caught my eye because I grew up in a poor family. Granted, we weren't the poorest of the poor. There was always food on the table at mealtime, though it was almost always cheap, and visits from the sheriff to serve warning of eviction for unpaid bills were rare. Still, at least ten of the rules on the list resonated as lessons I very much learned growing up. Here are Five Things: four rules from the list, plus a bonus one I'd add to the list myself.
I remember running for Student Council President in 5th grade and standing up on the stage in front of the whole school— 500 students— to give a speech about my candidacy, with my toes literally poking out through my sneakers on both feet. I got new shoes the day after that because my mother had come to school to see my speech and was mortified about my toes poking out right where everyone could see them up on the stage.
The just-get-by types were hostile to anyone aspiring to do better than them. As if to justify their kids' C- grades and their dead-end, subsistence jobs they sneered at anyone excelling academically. Yes, I said their kids... because this derision came not just from my childhood peers but their parents, too. Adults in my neighborhood bullied me when I earned the top score on a standardized test in my elementary school. So, like the rule above says, I learned to keep my mouth shut about academic accomplishments and career goals.
For the record, I didn't boast about my score on that test— I couldn't, because I was actually the last to know! The scores went straight to our parents, and my mom told other parents because she was so proud of me. I didn't learn about how well I'd done until the neighbor-lady across the street sneered at me in front of her kids, my friends. "I'll bet you feel you're so much better than everyone else, Mr. Smarty-pants! I'll bet you think you're a genius. Do you even know what an I.Q. is?" I didn't; I was 8. "Well, you can't really be that smart, then," she taunted. Yes, a grown-ass woman bashing an 8-year-old for doing well in school!
As my accomplishments grew over the years I grew ever more distant, personally if not physically, from the dullards, slackers, and proud idiots in my neighborhood. Like the rule quoted above implies, I stopped talking to any of them. We had nothing in common anyway other than mathematically similar addresses. By that point I didn't even go to the same school as I had tested into a magnet high school for science and technology.
Later, though, the sense of alienation turned into melancholy. Having less and less in common with anyone from my neighborhood became sad. I remember bumping into Kevin, one of my best friends from 4th or 5th grade, when I was 19. I had finished 2½ years of college and was working a professional job. I owned a new car and wore a suit and tie to work as a systems analyst for a big company. Kevin worked at a local gas station as a mechanic's helper. Understand, I respect people who work in skilled trades. It's honest work, it takes real skill, and it can pay enough money to support a family. But Kevin wasn't a mechanic; he was an odd-job boy. He did menial stuff like oil changes and mounting tires. He wasn't in a training program or apprenticeship to earn a certification; he was just floating along on a slightly-above-minimum-wage salary, hoping— with absolutely no concrete plan— that something better might come along some day. Kevin, who'd been like the big brother I never had when I was a kid, had become like my ne'er-do-well cousin.
Part of the situation, obviously, was that medical care was expensive relative to my family's means. My dad had insurance through his job but it was essentially a high-deductible plan. The out-of-pocket for a simple office visit was equivalent to a $100 co-pay in today's (2021) dollars. At $100 a pop, when you can't even afford to keep your kids in solid shoes... yeah, you're not taking your kids to the doctor for every scrape and cough.
While the cost of medical bills was part of the limitation it was not the only part. The other part was the cost of even getting to the doctor's office in the first place. That's where I'll add a rule of my own to the list:
Next, what do you do about the other kids? Even when my mom had a car available, the challenge still was having to pack up the whole crew. For many years my parents couldn't/wouldn't leave us home alone because either the oldest wasn't old enough or the youngest was too young. Babysitters were expensive (remember, we didn't even have hole-free shoes), and you know what happens when you drag a bunch of kids to the waiting room at the doctor's office? At least one of them who wasn't sick before catches something from all the kids coughing, sneezing, drooling, etc. while waiting for an hour or longer.
The hassle factor of taking the whole family anywhere limited other activities, too. Things as simple as a trip to the public library became major efforts that were only granted a few times a year. Drop the older kids off at a movie? Ha ha, the younger ones would be in the car and would spend the whole rest of the day crying once they saw their older siblings were getting to go to a movie and they weren't. Join a sports team? Your practice schedule needs to work for everybody, because they're going to be sitting in the car at the ball field 3 nights a week while you're at practice. Past some point you get so tired of hearing, "No" or, "Yes, but..." with an untenable requirement, you stop asking.
The article caught my eye because I grew up in a poor family. Granted, we weren't the poorest of the poor. There was always food on the table at mealtime, though it was almost always cheap, and visits from the sheriff to serve warning of eviction for unpaid bills were rare. Still, at least ten of the rules on the list resonated as lessons I very much learned growing up. Here are Five Things: four rules from the list, plus a bonus one I'd add to the list myself.
1. "Take care of your stuff and keep it nice because you're not getting more of it if you break it."
I'll start off with a rule that doesn't sound like a bad one to live by. Who'd argue against taking care of your stuff? The downside is the stress that comes from knowing that however minor a thing is, you need to treat it like gold because you may not get another one. That creates an anxiety about even using a thing that's consumable, like a box of chalk. As a 7-year-old given a box of chalk on a summer day I had to consider how much chalk to use drawing hopscotch boxes, sidewalk art, etc. vs. how much to save for the next week and the week after— because I knew I was only going to get one box of chalk all summer. And then imagine how disheartening it was to see that, while I wasn't looking, my little sister picked up a rock and crushed my chalk into crumbs because she didn't understand anything beyond the current moment.2. "If your shoes don't require duct tape, you don't need new shoes."
As a kid I routinely wore clothes until they had holes in them. There wasn't money to replace them sooner. That went for shoes, too. My shoes always had holes in the toes, or the sides, or the soles, or all three, before being replaced. We had no duct tape, though— that was too much of a luxury! (My parents believed it was a gimmick and we'd just waste it. They obviously paid no attention to how I rationed chalk!)I remember running for Student Council President in 5th grade and standing up on the stage in front of the whole school— 500 students— to give a speech about my candidacy, with my toes literally poking out through my sneakers on both feet. I got new shoes the day after that because my mother had come to school to see my speech and was mortified about my toes poking out right where everyone could see them up on the stage.
3. "Keep your aspirations to yourself. Telling anyone in your household/social strata about your plans to get out and do better may be met with bitterness and downright ridicule. People will call you uppity for wanting to go to school or stupid for having a career goal that isn't modest and local and vaguely dead-end."
My family lived in a working class neighborhood. That made living near the poverty line less of a contrast because most of our neighbors weren't far ahead of us. Still, they tended to have things we did not. Starting with shoes without holes in them. One thing we did have, though, was a middle class mindset. Education was always valued in our family, and going to university to earn a degree and get a good job was always the expectation. That was different from many of our neighbors, who had a just-get-by attitude toward life.The just-get-by types were hostile to anyone aspiring to do better than them. As if to justify their kids' C- grades and their dead-end, subsistence jobs they sneered at anyone excelling academically. Yes, I said their kids... because this derision came not just from my childhood peers but their parents, too. Adults in my neighborhood bullied me when I earned the top score on a standardized test in my elementary school. So, like the rule above says, I learned to keep my mouth shut about academic accomplishments and career goals.
For the record, I didn't boast about my score on that test— I couldn't, because I was actually the last to know! The scores went straight to our parents, and my mom told other parents because she was so proud of me. I didn't learn about how well I'd done until the neighbor-lady across the street sneered at me in front of her kids, my friends. "I'll bet you feel you're so much better than everyone else, Mr. Smarty-pants! I'll bet you think you're a genius. Do you even know what an I.Q. is?" I didn't; I was 8. "Well, you can't really be that smart, then," she taunted. Yes, a grown-ass woman bashing an 8-year-old for doing well in school!
As my accomplishments grew over the years I grew ever more distant, personally if not physically, from the dullards, slackers, and proud idiots in my neighborhood. Like the rule quoted above implies, I stopped talking to any of them. We had nothing in common anyway other than mathematically similar addresses. By that point I didn't even go to the same school as I had tested into a magnet high school for science and technology.
Later, though, the sense of alienation turned into melancholy. Having less and less in common with anyone from my neighborhood became sad. I remember bumping into Kevin, one of my best friends from 4th or 5th grade, when I was 19. I had finished 2½ years of college and was working a professional job. I owned a new car and wore a suit and tie to work as a systems analyst for a big company. Kevin worked at a local gas station as a mechanic's helper. Understand, I respect people who work in skilled trades. It's honest work, it takes real skill, and it can pay enough money to support a family. But Kevin wasn't a mechanic; he was an odd-job boy. He did menial stuff like oil changes and mounting tires. He wasn't in a training program or apprenticeship to earn a certification; he was just floating along on a slightly-above-minimum-wage salary, hoping— with absolutely no concrete plan— that something better might come along some day. Kevin, who'd been like the big brother I never had when I was a kid, had become like my ne'er-do-well cousin.
4. "Going to the doctor isn't an option until your fever is sustained at 104, a bone is broken, or the tooth rotted and won't fall out on its own. I am in my late 30s with full insurance and still have a hangup about going for medical care."
Trips to the doctor were rare growing up in my family. Like the quote above suggests, unless it was an acute problem like a 104° fever or a broken bone, the rule was to tough it out for a few days and see it goes away on its own.Part of the situation, obviously, was that medical care was expensive relative to my family's means. My dad had insurance through his job but it was essentially a high-deductible plan. The out-of-pocket for a simple office visit was equivalent to a $100 co-pay in today's (2021) dollars. At $100 a pop, when you can't even afford to keep your kids in solid shoes... yeah, you're not taking your kids to the doctor for every scrape and cough.
While the cost of medical bills was part of the limitation it was not the only part. The other part was the cost of even getting to the doctor's office in the first place. That's where I'll add a rule of my own to the list:
5. "Going anywhere is difficult, and if one goes, everyone goes."
How do you get to the doctor's office? You drive, right? What if you don't have a car? For many years my parents could afford only one car. My dad needed it to drive to work. That meant doctor visits were only for illness severe enough to be worth the cost and hassle of hiring a taxi (waaay different in the suburbs from big-city business/entertainment districts) or begging help from a neighbor.Next, what do you do about the other kids? Even when my mom had a car available, the challenge still was having to pack up the whole crew. For many years my parents couldn't/wouldn't leave us home alone because either the oldest wasn't old enough or the youngest was too young. Babysitters were expensive (remember, we didn't even have hole-free shoes), and you know what happens when you drag a bunch of kids to the waiting room at the doctor's office? At least one of them who wasn't sick before catches something from all the kids coughing, sneezing, drooling, etc. while waiting for an hour or longer.
The hassle factor of taking the whole family anywhere limited other activities, too. Things as simple as a trip to the public library became major efforts that were only granted a few times a year. Drop the older kids off at a movie? Ha ha, the younger ones would be in the car and would spend the whole rest of the day crying once they saw their older siblings were getting to go to a movie and they weren't. Join a sports team? Your practice schedule needs to work for everybody, because they're going to be sitting in the car at the ball field 3 nights a week while you're at practice. Past some point you get so tired of hearing, "No" or, "Yes, but..." with an untenable requirement, you stop asking.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-10 02:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-02-10 05:24 pm (UTC)That would've been one of my grandmothers, BTW. Old, infirm, no car, living on just a social security check. She might have had $100 in her purse, but what did it matter? She wasn't well enough to walk across town to the Superdome— and what a shit-show that turned out to be, anyway. She would've been one of the people rescued by rescue workers in motorboats— or one of the people discovered dead in their homes days later.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-10 05:03 pm (UTC)My grandfather (born 1911) was not badly educated in any way—he ended up as a member of the Swedish parliament. But he was deeply suspicious of the academic system. Go though the basic school, get a job, and then educate yourself or get on-the-job training on your own was his mantra, like many people of his background. When my aunt decided to go on to secondary school (and on the fully classical program, learning Greek and Latin) he was really angry. IIRC, he even refused to go to her graduation ceremony.
She went on to study medicine, something which he became even more angry about, and then he died in an aircraft crash while the conflict was still festering.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-11 01:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-02-11 06:35 am (UTC)But suspicion towards the academic system was very much part of the cultural landscape of not only Swedish working class, but the working class movement, at the time. That was starting to change, but Tore was clearly a success story for the institutions the Swedish working class movement had managed to build themselves.
My grandmother had a slightly different perspective. She had longed to go for a elementary teacher's seminar, but her family couldn't afford it and she was denied any scholarship (through nepotism, as I understand it).
no subject
Date: 2021-02-12 01:13 am (UTC)It's also interesting to compare to the anti-academic movement growing in the U.S. Here, though, the movement is not genuinely of the working class but a fiction created by certain political elites. The Republican Party has, for the past 25 years and especially in the past 10-12 years, relied on persuading people into political beliefs that either are not supported well by facts or are outright, provably false. Part of how they keep people locked into accepting falsehood is by undermining trust in expertise, science, and higher education. Then, when someone is presented with conflicting claims about, say, whether Coronavirus is a serious health threat or "just a common flu"; infection and death rates are legitimately high or "a media hoax"; President Biden won the election by 7 million votes or "widespread fraud stole the election from Trump"; their political leaders can trivially dismiss factual claims by sneering, "Well, that's what the elites want you to believe."
Bonus ridiculousness: the people who foment this anti-elite phony populism are themselves elites— as defined by education, wealth, and access to power.
Planning ahead is a luxury the poor can't afford
Date: 2021-02-11 01:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-02-11 06:57 pm (UTC)As for #1, when we moved in high school into a middle class suburb with generational money and upward expectations (the suburb, I mean), as well as just enough wealthy people to validate that thinking, I was sent to the guidance counselor for "not fitting in". He challenged me on why I couldn't dress like all the other kids. Which is to say, I had cable knit sweaters, but they were mostly acrylic from Target or Sears or Kmart or lower, but they looked nice and worked fine, but they didn't have a little animal embroidered on the left breast. He actually said, well, why didn't I just buy one officially designated preppy wool sweater with the correct animal, instead of having multiple cheap sweaters? And my 13-14 year old self was thinking because it would have been fine to wear the same sweater every day and no one would notice? Since apparently my clothing was an item of deep interest to everyone else.
I mean, had I known the phrase wtf, that is my thinking at the time in a nutshell. What the hell, dude? I'm getting bullied and getting crap from students and faculty, plus I'm female and I'm getting harassed, and the problem is my fucking sweaters!?!? Again, had I known the phrase, my confusion would have been supplemented with they should all diaf. Which is exactly how I feel about those people and that school.
Also, pro tip. My mom got convinced by that shit by my senior year, so I had one pair of the correct shoes and a correct sweater, which were fucking expensive, and guess what? Do you think I was suddenly an accepted member of the country club? Hell, no. Does that shit leave scars? Hell, yes. I am still getting therapy for the sin of crossing socioeconomic boundaries.
There's so much more. And we weren't even that poor! I mean, we had a place to live, we got food stamps, we were never hungry, and we had medical care because Union jobs, yo. I mean, for a brief period we got free care through the clinics at the local University medical and dental schools, but otherwise we had insurance through the union.
We were worlds away from the poverty my father grew up in, and my mother didn't grow up wealthy but she was worlds away from the poverty of her parents. Although the only reason they could visit family out of town on the train was that her grandfather worked for the railroad and at the time that meant family could ride short distances for free. Her mom was the one who always took and saved the jellies and condiments from the lunch counter or restaurant because Depression. There were drawers full of little packets of stuff when she died. When I was little, I thought she was bringing me tiny soaps and whatnot if my grandparents went somewhere because it was a cute kid sized gift. It took a long time to realize that was partly it, but it was also that it didn't cost money and it was useful.
There's a whole recursive loop to this stuff that screws with you forever.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-11 10:08 pm (UTC)Not fitting in for lack of spendy, brand-name clothes was one of my experiences, too. It just didn't make the cut for my list above. And yeah, I'm not at all surprised it failed in the way you experienced. Those shallow little shits in high school and jr. high actually go pretty deep with their judge-y shallowness.
If these resonate with you, definitely click through the link to Buzzfeed (or find the thread on Reddit) if you haven't already. I highlighted just 4 of the rules that resonated with me. There were at least 5 more reflecting experiences I had growing up, including us kids being eligible for subsidized school lunches but my parents refusing out of pride to apply, plus numerous others I could imagine having being true for me if my family had been poorer.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-12 08:15 pm (UTC)I woked my ass off in school because being in school was SAFE. If I did well, I got picked for after school programs, so I threw myself into school.
Then my grandparents got custody, and Oma was very dismissive of education - unless I got less than an A, in which case she gave me the silent treatment for weeks. And when I got As? Well, why wasn't it an A+? Nothing was ever good enough. So I continued to throw myself into my schoolwork. I was finally safe at home, but it was not happy by any means, I stayed away as much as possible.
The long term effects still linger. I still freak out if the fridge or pantry or freezer starts to look even remotely low. I still jump out of my skin at heavy footfalls. I still squeak every last bit of wear out of clothing and shoes, even if they fit poorly or are getting tattered. I'm only JUST starting to look to replacing clothes instead of looking like I'm dressing out of the rag bag.
Some of my childhood friends got out. We sometimes get together with the ones who are still on the East Side - the ones who aren't dead or in prison, anyway - and while we all still share the bond that forms when you've all grown up in violence and poverty, it's clear that our friends are pissed off at us for getting out and trying to get our heads unfucked. They're resentful and they want out, but feel like it's a betrayal to actually GET out.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-12 08:58 pm (UTC)I totally get how habits learned in tough times linger. I saw it with one of my grandmothers, who always swiped the jelly and butter packets off the tables at restaurants to take home. When I was a kid and saw her doing it I was confused because she didn't need them; in fact she didn't even use them. She could afford her own butter and jelly just fine. But for her it was a habit she'd learned during the Great Depression that stuck with her.
For me it's the habit of holding onto certain worn out things too long, always trying to "get just one more month out of it" before replacing it. Like when I kept wearing a pair of sandals several months after they started falling apart. As long as they were still holding on by a thread— and as the picture at that link shows, it was just a thread— they were still usable!