Poor

I didn't know we were poor until my sister explained it to me when we were in our twenties.  We lived in the big house on the hill. We had food to eat from the garden and from Grandpa's farm.  We had bikes and skates and a toy or two at Christmas. We had television and cars and took vacations.

I thought everybody built their own house. I thought it was normal to wear the same dress for years as I grew through all of the matching hand-me-down dresses from the cousins.  I had sun and fun and laughter.  I don’ think it was poor.

I'm pretty oblivious to things going on around me.  Sure I knew my cousin always seemed to have multiples of the newest pet rock.  I figured it was because she was a spoiled brat.  (Turns out it was probably because she stole them but that is another story for another time.)  Sure there was that girl at school who had the amazing blue dress, actually lots of different dresses.  I figured it was because her grandmother didn't have so many grand-daughters.  I don't think that any of that was poor.

I had enough.  And enough is not poor.