I pulled into a parking spot this morning and felt eyes on me. I turned my head and saw an SUV packed to the roof with what appeared to be most of someone’s possessions.
And there, on the dash, was the prettiest cat looking at me. He didn’t appear scared, just curious, and looked healthy. We locked eyes and I told him that he was pretty lucky to be so loved that he was in that car, too. My guess was that this person was either moving or living in their vehicle, and I’ll never know which, I suppose, but there was something about the scene that left me … sad? Disheartened?
There was a point in my 20s when I was sharing a house with a friend. We had a disagreement and when I came home from work the next day, all of the friend’s belongings were gone. No note. No explanation. No warning … just gone. I went next door to talk to the landlord to see if she knew what was going on and was told that the friend had left. I was shocked and asked if I could stay but was told that my friend had said I was moving out, as well. There I was, standing in the yard without a home. She gave me a couple of days to get my things together.
Luckily, my mom was always willing to take me back and another friend lived where there was an empty apartment upstairs, so I wasn’t in too big of a mess, but I can remember being so overwhelmed by the whole scene. Of all the things the world had assumed I’d be at that point in my life, homeless wasn’t one of them.
Maybe I’m able to have such empathy because my own experiences haven’t always been golden. I mean, I spent most of my 20s working three jobs so I could live on my own and still spent one whole winter starting my car with a screwdriver propping the choke open because I couldn’t afford the repairs. That same car eventually required a stop about every 100 miles to add oil because of a leak that, again, I couldn’t afford to fix.
In fact, it was on a crazy trip through Indiana to Ohio that I learned of John Denver’s passing when I stopped at a gas station to buy more oil. Hell, even now, I have more than one job and am still holding my breath every time I turn the key on this car because, still again, I can’t afford repairs. Still can’t afford repairs over twenty years later …
That’s the thing about living with “less than,” eh. Now that my memory has been jolted, I also remember stopping at a Chinese restaurant on that trip through Indiana. My friend and I were soooo hungry. We were seated and staring wide-eyed at each other because it was a much fancier place than we had thought. When we opened the menu, we know we couldn’t afford one item, so, much to the waitress’ dismay, we ordered waters and left, almost running, embarrassed and ashamed.
I, at that time, was working full-time as a direct caregiver for adults with special needs, selling beer in the concession stand at an arena, and working as a barista in a coffee shop. I’ve always had the will to work and make it on my own, and I’ve survived, but I’ve never thrived.
Skip ahead to my 30s and parenting became my most important job. I scraped by with no help from anyone, glaring at the father, and was so prideful because I wasn’t – and had never – relying on government assistance for anything. I wasn’t insured when I found out I was pregnant the first time and was determined to do it on my own until I saw the first doctor’s bill. I cried as I filled out the application for Medicaid because that wasn’t the life I had dreamed about having.
I was so thankful for that insurance, though, and I had a healthy pregnancy but required an emergency C-section. The insurance lasted for six weeks after the birth and then I, again, didn’t qualify despite being treated for an infection.
I went without insurance until 3 years later when I found out I was pregnant again (note: my children have had health insurance every day of their lives through Medicaid when we qualified and CHIP when we didn’t). Medicaid is such a blessing to those who can’t afford private insurance and whose employers don’t offer benefits. I stayed on Medicaid off and on over the next nine years until I made too much money to qualify. Insurance shouldn’t be a luxury that only the wealthy can afford, and I know too many people who are either uninsured or paying outrageous fees for their coverage. We, in the richest country in the world, shouldn’t have to file bankruptcy over medical bills, especially if we are insured.
I’ve done all the things that I have ever been told to do to achieve the American Dream. I have a Bachelor’s Degree. I have more than one job. I’m no longer receiving Medicaid or SNAP. And yet, just like in my 20s, I’m still holding my breath every time I turn the car key in the switch.
I know that I could do some things a little differently. I could, for instance, not eat out, or tell my kids no when they want phones like their peers’. I could stop taking road trips. I could stop paying for them to go ice skating or to the movies or to participate in extracurricular activities.
But I won’t until I absolutely have to because surviving is harder than it seems sometimes, and if I can raise my kids to know that there are opportunities and places outside of our everyday existence, to feel as if their childhood is better than a lot of others and just as good as someone else’s, then I believe there’s hope that they can live a life that’s in line with the middle class values by which they’ve been raised.
And besides, there’s a blessing in knowing how to get yourself from one state to another in a car with an oil leak and a sticky choke.
