Underprivileged and Broken
This holiday season, I am reminded of the undeniable fact, that I was an underprivileged child, from a broken home. At that time, (the 1970s to be exact), I didn�t even know what all of that meant. If anyone had taken the time to ask me, I would have told them, that I was neither underprivileged, nor was my household �broken�. I had a mother, a father, a sister, uncles, aunts, cousins and 2 grandmas, - more love and attention than any child could ask for.
It wasn�t until 1988, when I began completing college applications and the nebulous financial aid process that I realized my parents had accomplished something the government declared impossible � they managed to raise 8 children, between their marriages and divorces, in separate households, on wages which were more often than not, grossly below the poverty level index.
In order to complete the FAFSA, as well as other scholarship and grant applications, I needed tax returns from both of my parents. My mother initially scoffed, stating that my father needed to foot the financial responsibility, for my education. My parents were divorced circa 1972, and finances were a sensitive subject, with my mother, to say the very least. The reality of how poor we were, according to gross income per capita chart, became a stark reality the night I added the boxes on mom and dad�s respective W2 Forms. The worksheet I was trying to complete kept coming up with a negative answer. It took me two prayer filled nights to realize that we were two separate family units, both of whom were operating in a bleak deficit. Mom and Dad took robbing Peter to pay Paul to the level of an art form.
I rapidly realized that college may not be in my future, we had no way to pay for it, and neither of my parents were in any type of position to take a loan.
My purpose for today�s entry is based on a special interest project that one of my co-workers has been involved for a number of years. Each year she adopts several underprivileged, single-parent families. She gathers donations from a number of loyal supporters, in order to provide Christmas presents and personal necessities, for each child and adult. When she made brief mention, of this undertaking to me, my heart stopped immediately. I reached in my pocket without words or hesitation, and firmly pressed $20 into her palm. It was all I could do, not to shed tears. I began walking away, but she continued to follow me and thank me while I attempted to retreat back to my office. I thought it was a bit odd that she had continued to thank me. Later she confided that I had donated more money than anyone else in the building, and she �knows� I�m one of the lower paid Engineers, in my firm. She went on to tell me what my generosity would mean to the children and to the parents alike. I sat silently, listening attentively. After she�d finished sharing her thoughts with me, she asked if I was okay.
I nodded my head. I turned to her, and in a strained whisper I struggled to say �what you don�t know is that I was one of those kids, I came from a family that had only one parent in the household, I never knew I was underprivileged and I never knew my home was �broken�.�
What she didn�t know was that the $20 I pressed into her hand was all the money I had until next pay day.
What only a few people know, is that I have surmounted some ugly statistics.
What we all need to know is that Statistics LIE.
May this Holiday Season find you all with more Bounty and Prosperity than Shortage and Sorrow. May God grant each of you the sincerest wishes of your hearts. I ask that you take some time, from your lives to share some of what God has Blessed you with.
Goodwill on Earth, Peace for all Humankind.
Amen