I Am Rich
What you don’t know.
My mother was born into a family with 6 siblings. They shared a one room dirt floor shack with their parents, her father a coal miner. My mother was the first in her family to graduate college, while I was in the Navy, cuma sum laude. My siblings and I did not know dirt poor, but we also did not know what a new car was, seldom knew what new clothes were. Almost every day I acknowledge to myself that I live like a king. No matter how little I think I have, I know I live like a king.
In this time of year, consider how rich you are.
Here’s a story (true? probably) that tells what so many of us know first hand. Today we live like royalty.
While you’re reading, here’s a listen:
Mom was the first to rise. I would peel open an eye to catch her brushing on mascara while Dad snored. Our one bedroom smelled of Shiseido moisturizer and the coffee that pulled her from fatigue into her day. The breakfast rice was going. I went back to sleep.
I remember the colors of Christmas. We never had a tree, for the frivolity it was and probably for the space. But the lights we did, tiny red and green bulbs a scant garnish on the rail of my top bunk. Every December I’d walk through grey snow slush to Woolworth’s with my cousins, the giant five and dime that offered everything under the New York sun. Chocolate, Maybelline with all her wares, Arrid roll-on deodorant, lines of nail polish. Instead of walking out with Christmas presents for friends and family, every holiday jaunt I would leave the store thinking, “I’ll…
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