Struggle
When I was three until I was about 10 or 11, I lived in Cherry Hill. We rented half a house over a barbershop and what I think was a realtor's office. I hated it. Every moment of it from the point I started going to school and making friends in the neighborhood. All my friends had big fancy houses, really nice toys and birthday parties that everyone wanted to go to. I didn't mind at first but once Kindergarten started we practiced an evil little ritual that our teacher pushed upon us. A ritual that continued unofficially in the minds and hearts of all the kids I knew up until the moment I finally escaped. Yes that's right...Show and Tell.
I never felt deprived of anything as a kid until the rich and happy middle class kids were kind enough to show me the error of my ways. I never felt my Burger King happy meal magic trick wasn't up to snuff after all it could make a penny disappear. Heck I could even bring it back if I flipped it back over. Surly that was as cool as the hand held Pac Man game that everyone else had. But the other kids were kind enough to show me the errors of my ways. After all, even though the mini version only made batteries Vanish, it's big brother in the arcades were making whole quarters disappear. Perhaps if I had been more clever though I could have pointed out how only the arcade owner could make them reappear, well unless enough of there friends managed to flip the machine over, but then cops would be involved and those machines were much heavier then my little plastic box from burger king. My box was cop free.
There were always things I couldn't afford and always someone to point that out. My show and tells were never good enough, even when it switched from the official presentations on the Kindergarten Carpet to the unofficial venues at recess and after school. Ironically it was never the Rich kids that tried to make me feel bad. In fact my best friend at the time could have anything he asked for and lived in a house that made even the Middleist Class Kid's home look small. But he loved to share what he had and got excited when the penny vanished, or at least pretended really well. Perhaps with no one telling him his stuff was not up to par, he didn't feel the need to point that out to others. Too bad he had to move to Atlanta. And yes I did just make up my own word, Middlest. It's my language I can do with it what I want. If you don't like it stop using my language.
Eventually we moved out of our big, half a house and into a tiny trailer. Some would have considered it a step down but I was happy. We moved to an area where the kid's toys were even worse then mine and I was finally free. I tried very hard not to show off my magic penny box and I always smiled when they showed me their stick forts and there home made guns. They were 100% grade A tree branch and shot real rubber bands. Who was I to judge.
My time in cherry hill taught me much, as did my time in Mantua, though left me with a complex. I am overly sensitive when people seem to think I or my offerings are not up to par. There are people who appreciate that you sometimes have to use creativity to deal with limited funds. Usually they are the types of people that have had to do the same themselves from time to time. They are the people I feel comfortable with, they are the people I feel like I belong to.
I never felt deprived of anything as a kid until the rich and happy middle class kids were kind enough to show me the error of my ways. I never felt my Burger King happy meal magic trick wasn't up to snuff after all it could make a penny disappear. Heck I could even bring it back if I flipped it back over. Surly that was as cool as the hand held Pac Man game that everyone else had. But the other kids were kind enough to show me the errors of my ways. After all, even though the mini version only made batteries Vanish, it's big brother in the arcades were making whole quarters disappear. Perhaps if I had been more clever though I could have pointed out how only the arcade owner could make them reappear, well unless enough of there friends managed to flip the machine over, but then cops would be involved and those machines were much heavier then my little plastic box from burger king. My box was cop free.
There were always things I couldn't afford and always someone to point that out. My show and tells were never good enough, even when it switched from the official presentations on the Kindergarten Carpet to the unofficial venues at recess and after school. Ironically it was never the Rich kids that tried to make me feel bad. In fact my best friend at the time could have anything he asked for and lived in a house that made even the Middleist Class Kid's home look small. But he loved to share what he had and got excited when the penny vanished, or at least pretended really well. Perhaps with no one telling him his stuff was not up to par, he didn't feel the need to point that out to others. Too bad he had to move to Atlanta. And yes I did just make up my own word, Middlest. It's my language I can do with it what I want. If you don't like it stop using my language.
Eventually we moved out of our big, half a house and into a tiny trailer. Some would have considered it a step down but I was happy. We moved to an area where the kid's toys were even worse then mine and I was finally free. I tried very hard not to show off my magic penny box and I always smiled when they showed me their stick forts and there home made guns. They were 100% grade A tree branch and shot real rubber bands. Who was I to judge.
My time in cherry hill taught me much, as did my time in Mantua, though left me with a complex. I am overly sensitive when people seem to think I or my offerings are not up to par. There are people who appreciate that you sometimes have to use creativity to deal with limited funds. Usually they are the types of people that have had to do the same themselves from time to time. They are the people I feel comfortable with, they are the people I feel like I belong to.