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Pockets, Friendly Enemies And Not Being Poor Enough.

I’ve come to accept the fact that I am, unfortunately, not poor.

Don’t get me wrong, my family is NOT rich, not even close. Seriously, I cannot emphasize how ‘not close’ to rich we are. We fall into that class people like my parents call “Lower Middle-Class” except we are in the bottom half of that sub-division as well.

I went to a residential school when I was a kid and I had a friend there, well not friend, more like enemy. However he was poor. His parents slaved to get him to a good school. His spectacles and his replacement spectacles were the same thing. When he got new shoes, they stayed locked in his trunk and he slept with the keys. But he embraced the fact that he was poor, and that made him fucking cool-ish. He could be arrogant and judgmental. I could afford to break my glasses, even if it was just once, but he had to have cello-tape handy. When he bought a comic book (yes ‘a’ comic book) and someone mishandled it, his lecture about his parents government job was tolerated. Once we had a fight and I ended up ripping out his shirt’s breast pocket. He Wore That Shirt To School The Next Day!!! Do you know what that feels like? To do that to a fellow classmate?

Anyway the point is my parents are just a hair above the poverty line. They worked to send me to a good school and they’ve worked all their life. But I was robbed of an opportunity to be a “people’s people” because my parents could just afford to get me another pair of glasses, pair(S) of shoes, a replacement to my tie. We’re Almost just as bad, but not bad enough where all that hard work can be ‘notarized’. I mean each and every one of my friends is way way way richer than me but I don’t get to stick out like the guy who deserves more. Damn it’s hard to be slightly more well-off and have a comfortable lifestyle.

But then again I guess my parents just worked harder.


About Humble Mumbler

I like video games, painting, and sitcoms that don't have laugh-tracks. Also house-training beetles.

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