I wrote yesterday that being there made me feel a little low, and it still does, a bit. A couple of vignettes in particular stand out. First is that of a mother and daughter buying a golf club. One single club only, priced at a dollar ninety-eight. The mother had a pinched and disappointed face, as if accustomed to receiving nothing but the back of the hand from life. But here she was trying to make things just that little bit better for her plain-pretty daughter, a girl between the ages of my own daughters, who held the club in her hand in wonder and something that neared but did not quite dare to hope. My imagination filled in all the darkened corners of this tableau, the way he left them, the straightened circumstances, scrimping, coupon cutting, the choosing between things unpalatable and ends impossible.
One club. A seven iron, by the look of it.
Across the room was a woman trying on a sweater in front of a full-length mirror, smoothing it down repeatedly, looking up from the sweater into her own reflection, seeing a face that had grown taut and hardened several years back but that must once have been quite lovely. Quiet desperation warred with memory in her eyes, as she tried to smooth out a two dollar sweater that could somehow bring the magic back, the flashing eyes and laughter. Something that would bring back the bloom gone missing from a terminally faded rose.
The monoglot mestizo couple, the woman pregnant, the man buying two dollar work clothes, sucking in their breath together at the cost.
The man prowling the aisles with simmering intensity and latent violence. Jailhouse tats, exercise yard physique and low cunning. Three day growth of beard and improbably red California Angels t-shirt. Looking at the “dress” shirts. Looking, perhaps, for some shred of respectability to go with his clenching jaw muscles.
There: Now I have drawn you. Be gone.
Cap’n,
Been there. I was that guy buying two dollar work shirts, looking for Christmas for six kids, or a “new” TV for the teenager. Now I sit in an office and give orders to the shop supe that I once turned wrenches for, and I wear shiny gold anchors on drill weekends. And ya know, I still find myself wandering through the Thrift Store at NAS Jax, or down in Gulfport, looking for a five dollar SDB jacket in 42L. Maybe it’s a Chief thing, or maybe I just don’t want to forget how it felt, back when I had to be there. Here’s to better days for all those who still are.
Cheers.
The woman with the sweater did me in this morning, Lex. What a humbling experience – makes me wonder about the growing gap between the haves and the have nots.
Thank you for reminding us.
I’m interested to see how this comment thread develops. I suspect that this powerful sketch will be markedly filtered through the individual socio-economic cognitive lenses of those who encounter it (ugh. I don’t think I’ve written so socially self-conscious a sentence since I left college!).
Being the daughter of a Christian minister, I was early and firmly taught that in God’s eyes we are not separated by class or income, etc. (and thus shouldn’t be in our own eyes, either). And so that is my default cognitive lens and what I’d like to believe in my more idealistic moments. Yet I am sadly reminded that there is all too often a difference between ideals and reality.
And I really hate that.
I’m no socialist, but sometimes I irrationally wish that we all had the same advantages–that no one would have to face the challenges of being handicapped at the starting gate (whether by opportunity, famliy life, genetics, or simply lack of hope).
I demand the power to shape the world as I think it should be! *retreating to calm self after temporary delusions of grandeur*
Fifteen years ago after my divorce, I was that woman buying the golf club for my son. The nights I cried because I couldn’t give him all that I wanted too and the realization at times that I had $2.00 to last until next week. Having to fight my ex to get the child support and the trips to the lawyer to make sure he continued to pay for my son’s health insurance. What can you say about an ex who tells you to put our son on Medicaid?
Through scrimping and saving, I was able to buy a house, but I still visit the thrift stores to this day. Those few years after my divorce were hard but taught me valuable lessons on how to make do.
FbL, I do not interpret your concerns for your fellow man as leaning toward socialism, instead I felt charity. Charity should never be confused with socialism. Socialism takes away our free-will to act when we hear that still, small voice, (the Spirit) urging us to act. I believe we can help our fellow citizens more than any government program.
On a lighter note…Lex’s post is a good reminder to clean out those closets…stop hanging on to those too-small dress shirts, because you know you are not going to fit into them again, and there is someone who could wear them RIGHT NOW for an important job interview, that might be the thing to help turn their life around. (sorry for the RO sentence)
And a reminder to be humbly, grateful.
My son’s school started a thrift shop to raise money to build a new school. I worked there one shift in January, and experienced one of those sobering moments.
This lady walked up to the register with a Little People school bus in her hand, and paid for it. She was SO excited about it. She immediately handed it to her 2 yr old son. She told us that he loved school busses, and they wanted to buy that very toy for him for Christmas. At the time, the only one she could find was new, at Target, and “They wanted $10.00 for it- well, I just couldn’t afford that for a toy! Can you believe it? $10.00!!!”
I just smiled, and died inside at the same time. Spending $10 on a toy is NOTHING to me- heck, I consider that a bargain anymore. I remember the day when $10 meant the world though, back when I was eating a basket of chips and salsa for a dollar at the restaurant I worked at- and that was the only thing I could afford to eat the whole day. One basket of chips for one dollar.
Like Ernie, it’s a humbling experience to remember.
And at the bottom of this thread I found… a Gulf Hurricane Relief banner ad. “Help Support Health Clinics Providing Critical Aid to Evacuees” at http://www.DirectRelief.org.
Katrina-Rita isn’t over folks, not by a long shot. Whether it is economic hardship, like the good people in Lex’s post, or the hand of Nature, there but for the grace of God go we all. Please be generous, and soberly grateful.
I too remember when $10 meant the world…
Heh. No longer able to fit into a dress uniform, borrowed or not, I deal with this differently.
I deliver Meals on Wheels to the shut-ins and elderly, most of whom, ’round here, are veterans.
I work with a local charity – which got me drafted onto the board of the regional parent of same. So now I get to help direct and manage a thrift store, a hospice, parenting programs, und so weiter. With a 5.5 million a year budget no less. That doesn’t go far enough.
It helps, when you know you can actually *do* something about it. With the 6 prisons we have in the area, we have a very odd economic demographic around here.
But perhaps most gratifying (in that odd, hard, military judgemental way) is watching the paid staff and volunteers recognize that there are people who need our services because they really ought to be in institutions… and we just help them because we must, and can. That there are people who need our services because they just need some help across the rough spots – and there are people who abuse our services, because it’s easier than trying to deal with life.
And it’s bracing to see them deal with those, too. It frankly is a hard-nosed practicality I had *not* expected to find in the trenches.
But I should have known better.
The troops know. They Always Know. Especially the NCOs. And the volunteers and paid staff are the NCOs of this operation.
I’m a staff weenie. But I will never be the kind of staff weenie who views the muddy fields of Flanders *after* the attack and say, “My god! We sent men out to fight in this?”
Sir,
I needed that..sitting here today in a foul mood at my well paying IT job, users been getting on my nerves a bit.
Thanks for the splash of cold water in the face.
When I was just knee high to a grasshopper my aunt worked for the NAvy dept at both Coronado and Seal Beach. Every once in a while, usually when times were really bad for us(and Mom about to lose the house), a car would pull up and some guy unknown to me would come to the door. He’d ask if my mother was home, and as she typically was at work, would shove some money into my little hands saying, ‘Betty said you you were having some trouble.’ The guy would then turn around and leave. They all had the same haircut. Sometimes a mustache. Once in a while they’d actually come in khaki or whites. Once a guy came on Columbus Day while Mom was getting ready for work. He shoved 4 passes to Disneyland into my hand(on a day back then that the park was closed to all but mil personel), which is how I got to Disneyland for the first time in my life.
It’s good to see that the Navy that took care to look out for those less fortunate when I was just a little boy, and gave my family little odds and ends long enough for us to get our feet solidly beneath us, still exists, even if it is filled with the self doubt about how to act on those feelings of generosity and commitment to the community it protects.
Cap’n,
My recent ‘challenges’ to find employment, a place to live and food to eat pale in comparison to those who struggle each day, every day. I remember giving blood so I could feed my wife and daughter, I remember a birthday when all my daughters could give me was a maroon colored pen. Now that my fortunes are trending positive, I willingly give of myself and money to those who need it.
I still shop at Goodwill while my older clothes go to the same place. Earlier, it was the only place I could find for clothing. I’ve recently donated furniture to Goodwill. Will I take the tax deduction? Not bloody likely.
Lex: Thanks for the reminder. My wife and I do volunteer work to help remind us. Deb works with NY Cares, and I work with Meals on Heels (meals on wheels only runs mon-fri in NYC), so we deliver food for the week-end.
I’ll never forget those who have less, and do whatever I can for them. By the way, I’m a major supporter and volunteer with Soldiers Angels as well.
Well, Lex, you did it again. While you may have drawn that picture for you, you drew it for all of us as well. This was a real heart tugger – and I don’t think I speak just for myself.
Thanks
I lived for four years in a project in Philly when I was a boy. My bio-father would not send us child support consistently, and so we often lived on what we were given–welfare cheese, peanut butter, powdered milk, and lots of bologna, often fried, which I hate even the smell of to this day. My for-tunes changed when my mother remarried, and we moved out of the project into a real house, and to be honest, I’ve never looked back since.
My wife and I have had some hard times, even having to give thought to pawning a few things to make ends meet, but that was years and years ago, and now, 39 years since I moved out of the project, I consider myself rich. I am financially stable and almost debt-free, I am educated and gainfully employed, and we’re saving for the future. Between that and generally good health, I have nada to complain about. Even so, I can never quite shake the sense that I am living too well, that I don’t really belong here–that it’s all a big mistake and fate will surely self-correct soon. It’s just too hard to shake off the sense of awe one feels at the ability of others to live well and good, especially when I know that the fortunes of life turn on the smallest circumstances. . .
My 13 year old daughter is a rich kid by any standard in the world. Not wealthy, per se, but cer-tainly what I always called a rich kid. She’s not snobbish, but she certainly lacks the experiences I had, to which I say _good_. Being poor can certainly be motivating, but it can be crippling too. Class is hard to break out of, even if only inside your head, and it doesn’t bother me a bit if she’s not bound up inside fighting her own sense of what she deserves from life. In my case, the mili-tary taught me to look up and forward, to see that I really can be all that I can be, I just needed to step out and do it. Unfortunately, some people never get that help or never learn they can be more than they are just by looking ahead and taking action.
One thing I do for my daughter is I take her to places like Goodwill and St. Vincent de Paul, or to a Denny’s where we sit at the counter near the kitchen window, or even to a Burger King or Wal-Mart and I tell her to look at the people she sees, to pay attention to the details, and that we’ll talk after. I try to make her see the people the way you’ve described, Lex, and afterwards, I question her at length about what she saw, what she think might be going on in people’s lives, what she thinks it must be like to live at the struggling end of life. Turns out I have a very observant, gener-ous, and gracious child who sees much and understands a lot. She has a way to go yet–for ex-ample, she still doesn’t quite understand what it means that some folks have to work an hour or two to earn enough money to eat the meal we had just finished–but she’s getting there, and her first job will teach her that. Of course, she may not ever really _know_ what I know, but in my mind, that’s not a bad thing either. Frankly, that would suit me just fine.
For my part, I try very hard to see the people around me all the time. For example, I speak to waiters and waitresses, not at them, and I say thank you to the door greeters at Wal-Mart, and I look shelf stockers in the supermarket in the eye and say hello, and I greet and talk to the clean-ing man at the office when he comes in, etc. It’s small stuff, and probably only matters to me, really, but it keeps things in perspective for me. And it keeps me humble.
As the saying goes, “There but for the Grace of God, go I.” I am not glad for others’ misfortunes, but I am thankful _every_ day for the good times. And when times are not good, I am just thankful that they aren’t worse. It’s a good way to see the world, I think.
Does anybody else remember the envelopes? The ones that had ‘new sofa’ or ‘new TV’ written on them and on payday you put a few bucks in it so eventually you had saved up enough to buy the item. That was before the instant gratification of credit cards so you’ve got to be fifty or better to remember.
Goodwill is one of the last outfits that ask for donations of clothes and actually re-sell them as clothes. I was surprised a number of years ago to discover that Purple Heart and the like sell the clothes by the pound rag buyers.
Thanks for the gratitude reminder.
“That was before the instant gratification of credit cards so you?
“That was before the instant gratification of credit cards so you’ve got to be fifty or better to remember. ”
No you don’t. I remember my mom doing that for the shoe shopping or clothing shopping up until I was in the 4th grade(1984), and she even kept an envelope for the house payment(and she kept her’s in freezer). Credit wasn’t always easy to get(not as easy as it is today.
I have this to say to Lex—I get it. Looking back over the events of my life 20 years or more ago and I now realize how hard it was for those men to do that. There was a weird sense of shame or internal struggle about not trying to be superior for them to do such a generous thing. Far more difficult for them, and now for you, than it was for me to take that money.
Go and buy at Goodwill with no reservations. You help more than you hurt by doing that. You keep the place lucrative enough to keep doing and being in operation for the kid to get her one golf club and the alcoholic getting his life back together. YOu really are helping by doing that, particularly if you buy the higher ticket items that don’t seem to move for months. So don’t feel bad, dude. There’s nothing to feel guilty about.
Hey Sanger: you have the same aversion to coupons that I do too? The hardest part about fried baloney was lancing the ‘tenting’ in the middle so it cooked right.
Oh man… “lancing the tenting in the middle so it cooked right” Boy, does that ever take me back! So does the envelopes for “school clothes” and such.
And I’m not close to 50 either.
The first time my parents applied for a credit card I was about 3 years old. They were denied, because they always paid cash for everything and didn’t have a credit history. Now banks send credit card to college kids with no reservations about it. Pretty darn amazing.
I’m glad that you were humbled when you saw some working class people at the Goodwill. But they are there shopping, not begging for your sympathy. Why would you say that you the girl has never been given anything but the back of a hand just because they are are buying a beat-up golf club? It is ridiculous to assume that she’s been abused and left by her father. Most likely, her father is off laboring and supporting the family. But neither of us know.
And just because a woman is looking at herself in the mirror, you assume she is sad about her elusive youth. You said it, not her. Maybe she’s just lost 10 pounds. Maybe she just likes shopping at the goodwill. Who cares? It’s none of your business.
You’re projecting your own assumptions of working class people and being fake-humbled by your fake-assumptions. You kept your distance, watched these people as they shopped, then changed your experience around in the most cliché way. Sorry, I don’t buy it.
It’s not for sale Emily.
Maybe it’s you that should shop elsewhere?
I agree with Emily. You sound as if you think you are better.. You were there. Maybe they felt sorry for sad, seen better days you. I shop at Goodwill. Im cheap and love a bargain. I am not poor. I love thrifting. I get a lot of Ann Taylor there. I am young, good looking now, not back in better days – and have never seen bad days. Would you judge me??? Then again I am the kind of person to have a conversation with the homeless who go through trash to get things to recycle just to hand them money to say thanks for their service to the world and tell them its more beautiful because of them. I am not not the kind to JUDGE them and assume they dont like their life, that is you. I would be more appropriate to judge you if I saw you, but I wouldn’t. Why do you feel the need? I might not be the best writer, but I think you get it.