This school year is almost at an end. Today’s seniors are closer to my oldest’s age so I know more of them and will miss seeing them around.
Having a junior, conversations about college are quite frequent here. I’ll be a mess next year because my right hand will be graduating and getting ready to move out. Ugh. My heart jumps into my throat from simply thinking about it.
Part of the college talk here is a pretty heavy one in the “Don’t do what I did” department. See, I had all the talent necessary to do well in college when I graduated from high school way back in the day. I had a strong and active brain. I loved to learn. I wish someone would have warned me about what it was like to be a poor girl on a campus of not-poor ones.
There I was, a poor girl, 17 years old, heading to a small private college three hours from home. I had only been away from home for a couple of weeks, and I was working then, so money was coming in. I also didn’t have to worry about surviving on my own as a camp counselor. That in no way prepared me for life on my own.
I made some stupid choices in college and have no one to blame but myself. I went kind of wild that far away from home the first time with no real knowledge of how the world worked. Knowing what I do now, I was kind of set up by the world to fail, but no one ever warned me or talked to me in the midst of my foolishness.
My roommate told me once that her dad owned one of the most commonly known companies in the country. I don’t know if it’s true because the internet and Google weren’t around back then. All I knew was that we were from two totally different worlds with zero in common and living together in a small room was too much for us, especially when my first college boyfriend was a black man.
I used work study to help pay back my loans until I quit because I didn’t fit into my office assignment at all. Life – and college – are different for poor kids. I never really had money to spend on incidentals. I would stock up on stuff when I came home and then ration and get by from friends in between. Trips home were few and far between because of mom’s low-wage jobs and the cost of gasoline. I didn’t even have my driver’s license because I knew I’d never have a car to drive.
One night I went to the laundromat. Hours later, I realized that I had clothes missing. Of course, the laundromat said there was nothing they could do about it when I realized I forgot a washer was filled with clothes. I called my mom in hysterics because I had no shirts to wear. I didn’t have money to replace them either. The next day, my mom and cousin made the three-hour trip to bring me some new clothes. Looking back, I am sure that put my mom in an extra tight spot. I didn’t have as many clothes, and I never forgot them at the laundromat again.
I have spent years making sure that my kids were taught middle-class values. They didn’t really know we were poor until they listened to my first public testimony four years ago. They knew that I might say no to a request but would generally fulfill it in a day or two. They didn’t know about the nights I cried because I knew they were cold or because I was hungry.
They didn’t know about the ills of payday loans. They believed that I was done playing music and sold my instruments rather than the truth about pawning them to keep the lights on. It’s kind of odd because I almost feel as if I have been a lot poorer over the past 17 years than my kids have been; then again, I purposely set it up that way.
I’m glad I can teach these lessons before life does. I can talk to her about class rules and help her to understand how to bend and use them in her favor. I can help her understand the further away you go from home means the less you get to come home. I can help her to be mindful of norms, both hers and everyone else’s. And hopefully one day she’ll be able to add even more padding for her kids.
Breaking cycles isn’t easy or fast. But it’s a helluva easier when you’re not at the back of the (social) class.
Onward,
Amy Jo
