Dear Elli,
Today's letter is going to be a serious one because I am slightly hung over and feeling somewhat emotional.
I was at the grocery store this morning, buying our usual weekly food supply that nearly requires two carts. As you already know, we shop at the "generic" grocery store, which means you wouldn't know brand named food if it punched you in the throat. If you haven't figured it out yet, the reason we shop there is because I have the propensity to be almost comically cheap. And the reason for that is because my third greatest fear is being poor. (My first and second greatest fears are of vomiting and being a terrible parent....just in case you wanted to be reminded that your mother is a total freak.)
So back to the grocery store. I finally roll my bloated shopping cart to the checkout lane and I get behind a lady with like 10 items. The cashier rang it up, and the lady quietly put back three items that she couldn't afford to buy. Her bill was less than $50. I pretended not to pay attention, but my face burned with shame at the sight of my massive cart full of food next to the lady with seven items she could barely afford.
Why was I ashamed? Because I'm a democrat. I'm only kind of joking. A wise republican friend of mine once pointed out that the democratic party is filled with people consumed with guilt over their own achievements. That is probably true.
But seriously. I was ashamed because we have so much. And others have so little. And I was more worried this morning over my throbbing head from mixing rum with beer at my cousin's wedding last night than how much my groceries cost. All the while, this lady in front of me was worriedly calculating each item in her head to see if she could afford to feed her family this week.
I was also ashamed because sometimes I forget. I grew up this way. As a kid, there were times of feast and times of famine. Your nanny and I lived everywhere from a dumpy two bedroom apartment to a great big beautiful house. I never went without what I needed, but it wasn't always a picture of financial health, either.
But sometimes I forget the tough years. Sometimes I forget the days when Taco Bell was a grand night out, and the times Nanny went without so I could eat more of our shared meal because I was "still growing" and she "really wasn't that hungry" at a restaurant. I forget the sound of the phone ringing every day with bill collectors yelling at us to give them money that Nanny didn't have. And I forget that I was nearly an adult before I realized that other people don't make tomato soup with water. They use milk.
I'm telling you this because it is important for me to make you understand how lucky we are. No, we are not rich. But statistically speaking and compared to many, we are. If I have it my way, you will always know that tomato soup is supposed to be made with milk. And you will never hear a bill collector berate your parents. And you will never see a shut-off notice on the door from the electric company.
But dammit, you will understand that we are lucky. You will understand that some people work day and night. Harder than your Daddy and me. And even though they are exhausted and their bodies are sore, they still can't make ends meet. You will understand that these people are not beneath anyone. These people have worries that I hope you never feel, but ones that your Daddy and I try not to forget. Worries that keep them up at night. Make them feel sick. Defeated. Tired.
And we will try our best to help. We will give money. We will give time. We will give compassion and dignity. So help me God, you will never make fun of someone on food stamps. Or the kids with free lunches at school. You will buy that kid a freaking cookie. And invite her to have grilled cheese and tomato soup (with milk) at our house.
So I will end this hangover and guilt induced letter by saying that if we do this parenting thing correctly, you will understand the value of money. Without taking it for granted. Without feeling entitled. Without feeling superior.
Because money is important, but it doesn't determine our worth. There are a lot of broke people who are worth more than all the money in the world. And a lot of wealthy people that are worth less than a dog turd. Please remember this when choosing your friends, and especially when choosing your husband someday.
After all, both of your parents were diamonds in the dirt. And we found each other, lived in the most disgusting apartments together, ate countless packages of ramen noodles, and collected change in the couch cushions for gas money. And look at how lucky we are!
Love,
Mom
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