LEARNING TO BE POOR

Not everyone needs to learn to be poor. It is those who had money but no longer have it. I see myself in a combination situation. I grew up poor, struggled had an average life moved to the lower upper middle class and am dirt poor once again. But I have had to learn to be poor. Let me explain.

My childhood could have been better than it was. I don’t look back with regret at all. I have some great stories of life and survival as a result. But I did think we had it a little more difficult than our neighbors — Financially that is.

I had loving parents. I was an after thought (read accidental) child so my conception was a surprise. Mom was 40 and loved children so she was reasonably happy. My parents already had five kids and dad was tired and getting very close to having them all move out.

I can’t remember exactly when I realized we lived differently. Ours was a middle class neighborhood. The homes were nice. A few were built with servants in mind, back stairs, separate quarters. The people living there during my childhood did not have servants. There were three I knew with the narrow, steep back stairs that ended in the kitchen. The fourth is the biggest house in our area. In all my years I never saw any resident. Kids thought the mansion housed a witch or a devil or both. Never even had a glimpse inside. The windows always looked covered and the house felt dark.

Ours was the most rundown house in the neighborhood. The exterior was very old white shale with several plates broken. The house was small. Fewer than 900 square feet. The porch planks needed to be replaced. Our porch was never painted. The bulk of the front and side yard had no grass. The maple tree in the middle of the yard saw to that.

We didn’t dress any differently than the others kids, or seem to have lesser toys. Mom usually has a part-time job that went exclusively to benefit my younger brother and I (Dean was so I would have a playmate). It was just the house and the fact that the entire back yard was a vegetable garden with one corner reserved for the rabbit cages. This became more and more clear as my interest in architecture grew. By my high school days I felt poor and neglected and confused. My dad had a very good unionized railroad job, yet we seemed to never have money. He seemed to have one of the better paying jobs in the neighborhood. He was not spending it on any vices. He was a non-smoking non-drinking stay at home man. I found out our problem after he passed away. Mom asked me to help her by writing letters to a few Christian ministries he cared about and telling them he was deceased. She did not want the requests for money to come any longer. I was shocked at how many and even who he supported. Half his income was given away.

As a young adult I married on a shoestring and survived those early years because my wife was a great bargain hunter. I remember when I was hoping that someday I might even make $5,000 a year. You have to laugh. Times changed.

I moved into the average paycheck in my second ministry. But I gave that all up after one year, moved on to seminar and my wife and I barely kept our noses above water for two years. I had plans to teach at my alma mater when my master’s degree was completed. The pay was significantly less that average. I actually chose to be poor. Again my wife led the way to survival. In my third year teaching the salaries began to rise, and each of my remaining years we had a major increase. We had a new chairman of the board who believed we should be paid like university professors. I love that man. During those years I moved into the lower end of upper middle class (whatever that means).

From there I went on to 13 years of excellent pay in a district position. That got me through those teen years when kids cost the most. That lasted another six years before poverty struck. I struggled for five of the next six years just to pay my bills (pre-retirement training). I did whatever I could to pay the bills. In 2008 my body began giving out and I could no longer handle the physical side of my job. I began receiving social security at 62. Whew! That helped. That on top of some small income jobs meant I lived just fine. Then I moved on to full retirement.

Before I go on, both my wife and I were as generous, or close to it, as my father. The difference for us was we did it on a personal level with individuals we knew needed help. Never once did we except to be repaid.

Our generosity replaced retirement planning. I wasn’t worried. I had Social Security and Medicare. That was certainly planning to be poor. I have also learned I need more help than that. Thank God for the food bank.

I’m not recommending my retirement plan unless you really do want to be poor, or unless you have no choice. But I don’t need much and don’t want much. In fact, I am still trying to get rid of things. I am happy and contented. And since I planned for my retirement, I have nothing to worry about — do I?

I have learned to be content with what I have.