I may not be portraying how poor we were properly.  And maybe more of that comes later when we were actually homeless.  Or maybe I don't explain what going to the swap meet meant every week – that it meant the difference between food on the table or not.

Or maybe I haven't explained how kids would tease us, even as very young children, for the way we dressed.  Our clothes were hand-me-downs from friends and family or they were bought in second-hand stores (before that was the cool thing to do) or they were bought at the swap meets.  And maybe I'm not explaining well enough exactly what that means – that these clothes might have stains or not fit quite right (especially when you're exceptionally tall and exceptionally thin for a child your age).  Highwaters were a part of my life because only short pants would fit around my tiny waist.

Or maybe I'm not explaining how we were always on subsidized food, even in school, and how that made us stand out – probably because this makes a bigger impact later, when I actually understand what subsidized school lunches are and how I had to work in the lunchroom to help pay for my own lunch – at the age of 10.  So while everyone else was out on recess, I was working.

And maybe I'm not explaining well what all of this does to your spirit and your hopes and your belief in yourself.  Because it does affect it.  You're the poor kid.  You're the kid people feel sorry for and look on with disdain all at once.  You're the kid who believes that you are just not as good as those who can afford to buy the newest things.

Being poor isn't fun and it isn't something that creates character and it isn't something that is appealing – even though Steinbeck novels make it almost seem romantic.

It's not.

It's sad and hard and depressing.

But it has also helped me be who I am – something I wouldn't change for all of the money in the world.  I value those hard years.