Poverty is a high stress factor for all families. I grew up in poverty. I had five brothers and two little sisters and my father worked for a turkey farmer, he was always at work. My mother was a stay at home mom and she seemed to be grouchy all the time. She got mad one time and punched the screen door and had to have stitches. I remember when we lived in an old train depot that the roof near the chimney caught on fire. With the neighbors help we got the fire put out. We ate a lot of pinto beans and turkey, but we never went without. We were clothes from yard sales that were in good condition, but the legs of the pants were usually to short.
When I was ten we built a two room shack to live in while we were building a house as a family out of rocks. We used an outhouse and carried water from a spring down the road. I spent lots of hours carrying rocks and hoeing in the garden. As a child we were given bikes, but mine was way too small. The other children that rode the bus with us used to laugh and make fun of us because there were a lot of us and because we were building a house that they said would never stand.
With all the teasing that was going on and my mom being grouchy most of the time as well as my father being at work all the time I was a quiet child that was scared to talk to people and I was considered shy. Though I know that I was scared I would say or do something wrong and get into trouble.
We were given bunk beds and other old furniture. We were limited on our toys or time to play with them. I remember that my brothers and I used big sticks and pretended that they were vehicles or horses. We also pretended the hoes that we used while we were working were tractors to make it more fun. We did get some hot wheel cars and we built a city on the huge sandstone above our house. We were very creative in our play. We ran a city in our house with a post office and all. Our stuffed animals were made birth certificates and marriage licenses. I was the teacher during all those years. If I could not get my younger siblings to participate my stuffed animals are the smartest because I taught them all. I still have a little bunny doll minus the ears and hands. If dolls could talk “Laura” my doll could tell you a lot of secrets.
Stressors across the world
The big stressor that everyone is aware of is the war going on in Afghanistan. During wars it affects people everywhere in the world. The families of military people and the families in the area that war is taking place are at risk for stressors. I see some of the families of military families that are just arriving home and some that are being sent overseas. These children suffer over the absence of a parent or maybe even both their parents which is a big stress on their lives, but not as big a stress as if you were in the war zone. Survival becomes their main concern as they may lose everything that they have. I cannot even imagine the stress that these children are going through. I feel that it is the worst possible stress because usually it plays on the facts of other people and not the families that suffer the most.
It scares me that these children do not have to watch violent shows because their lives are the violent show that cannot be avoided. What is to become of these children? How will they grow up and become happy healthy adults?
Lucinda,
ReplyDeleteI read your post about living in poverty and well it sparked within me many emotions. I can see why your mother was angry and felt stuck. Though it was unfair to you and your siblings.
I am curious, about your desires to go to college and to become a teacher.
Sadly, I grew up with an angry mother as well. Its hard, but with time I understood and learned to forgive her.
How is your present relationship with your parents and siblings if you don"t mind me asking.
Millie
Hi Millie,
DeleteAs a child I always wanted to be a teacher, but my mind was probably made up when I met a teacher (not mine) that took me in and let me help her. It was like she understood what I was going through. She gave me a safe place to help without critizing my work.
I live in North Carolina and my family lives in Arkansas, so we do not get to see each other much. I call my parents periodically as they call me. We get along a lot better know that I do not have to live with them. I do love them and respect them, but they can be to much for me at times.
Lucinda,
ReplyDeleteDo your parents still live in this stone house?
I am sure, although your possessions were few, that your imaginations were able to sprout quickly and your play was tremendous! I remember spending weeks at my grandparents house, where the toys were few (unless we played with the antiques that were not allowed!) so we played outdoors. Our imaginative play was developed beyond belief those weeks and now as adults we still joke with several stories of our "friends" and "protectors".
Thank you for sharing!
Hi Shelly,
DeleteNo, the house that we built is gone. The state bought the land to build a four-lane highway through there.
We swung from grapevines into a hollar that we piled leaves in. We were required to do a lot of work around that house so our playtime was limited, however we could use our imagination while we worked.
Lucinda,
ReplyDeleteYour story touched me and made me remember stories that my mother told me about her childhood. She too was from a big family she had 4 older and 2 younger brothers being the only girl. Her father, my grandfather had epilepsy and wasn't able to work and with 7 children neither was my grandmother. When my mom was 13 her dad passed away, things just got worse for them. I remember her saying that they would go around the house and get different objects, wrap them in newspaper and give them to each other for Christmas.
Thank you for sharing your story.
Lucinda,
ReplyDeleteWow! What an amazing story, almost seems like a story you would read in a magazine. It is great that you are able to share your story with others. You can relate to so many children living through poverty and understand their feelings. You seem like such a strong person. Thanks so much for sharing your story; it really touched me.