Which is nothing like African poverty or Russian poverty, it is not to be compared with other countries. This document is about American poverty only.

“I was poor” is a refrain that I hear a lot from kids, from young people and definitely from anyone born in the 80s or 90s. I finally broke the code when I was discussing it with my son today.

In the 80s and the 90s there developed a black and whiteness about socioeconomic status. It went something like this: if you get a new car on your 16^th birthday, then you’re not poor. If you don’t get a new car then that means you are poor. It is all black and white without a middle class and no shades of grey.

I want to discuss poverty from the perspective of someone like me, I am a person who experienced poverty in America.

Signals that you are poor:

If you ever cuddled up to a mangy dog so that you could get a little warmth, you might be poor. (This is not a Jeff Foxworthy commercial)

If you snuck into the kitchen at night hoping to make some chocolate milk to calm down the hunger pain and you found a giant dead cockroach in the can of chocolate syrup and it didn’t matter anyway because there was no milk. You are poor. Hunger is definitely the bellwether sign of poverty.

If you were taken to the emergency room only after days of coughing and pain, and almost too late, you might be poor.

If after playing all afternoon in rainy puddles you come home and are in “big trouble” because there is no water, well maybe you’re poor. If then the water doesn’t get turned back on for another week, well that is hard and poor.

If grocery day is the only day of the week that your stomach feels full that is hard and you are poor.

My experience:

I had three sisters, we each received one dress per year. No exception and no special occasion. We could not afford special occasions.

I clipped coupons and mama would let me keep the change for the coupons as if it was earned.

Mama slapped me in the store one time because we were spending our saved silver coins, and I kept saying “But mama, that’s the special quarters” we had no bread or milk and had devastated all our reserves.

When your father drills a hole in the floor because it’s raining and he can’t get the landlord to fix the roof, that is poverty.

When the Salvation Army brings all of the Christmas gifts, you’ll see this year and the next, that is poverty.

When your washing machine is outside on the back porch and you also spend a lot of time at the laundromat, you are poor.

You cannot even imagine the nasty ways that people can treat the children of poverty: there are many and they are varied. A fourth grader forced to urinate in her chair because she can’t “hold it” and isn’t allowed to leave the classroom. Overheard adult conversations questioning why your parents can’t give you a dime (.10) every week, and why weren’t you told that you are not welcome unless you bring money?

You can’t even imagine what you lose by being in poverty and your every effort is aimed at survival. I lost every movie in the 60s and 70s, they all lived and died without an iota of contribution from me. I lived under a vast cloud with my eyes chronically on the ground, always moving forward.

Poverty in America:

This is an American childhood in poverty: inconsistent food, pervasive feelings of hunger, inconsistent sanitation. No air conditioning in Florida, fans were taken by the older kids. No comfort purchases, survival defines all purchases. There is no such thing as a birthday and never a party. Work from a very young age (10 or 11), often for very little pay (off the books).

Can we talk about what poverty is not?

Poverty is not: always having a clean home and always having food.

Poverty is not: always having clothes and shoes that fit you.

Poverty is not: having privacy and comfort.

Poverty is not: the ability to keep your space clean.

If you had all these things, you wouldn’t be poor. There is a difference. There is a difference between having nothing and having a clean comfortable home.

A final note on poverty:

The worst part of poverty was we did not have someone to care for us. My mother’s hours were outrageous, she always worked two jobs. I don’t know where my dad was. I know that bad things can happen to kids when moms aren’t home, but this was a way of life for us. The very worst memory I have is running from my enraged schizophrenic brother, herding my little brother and sisters outside and hiding them under the porch. I remember that it was at night, and I remember that we got away from him. That’s poverty and that’s life when you have a monster at home, and no one to care for you.