Money can’t buy you happiness, but you can’t get much by being broke either. 

We grew up with little to no money. We teetered more on the no money side, though. My parents were immigrants who came with $20 to their names and three children in tow. I was born about two years later. 👶🏾

My dad worked odd jobs making peanuts to provide for his family, and my mom somehow kept her sanity while wrangling four children ages 8 and under. 

We didn’t have much, to say the least, but God provided our needs. How ’bout them wants, though?

My parents did a great job of shielding us from our economic status. I never went hungry, and we thought having just enough was the way of life. Free and reduced lunch was what every kid had, and I didn’t know until I was an adult that we lived in section 8 housing.

I realized in the third grade that there were levels to being broke. Yes, we all were economically disadvantaged, according to the government; but there was one advantage that I was intrigued to learn more about—child support.

I didn’t always have money to buy new clothes. It was second-hand or bust at a time when going thrift shopping was not cool. 

One day as I headed to school with my reindeer-and-holly turtleneck shirt in the middle of February, I saw a classmate who was stepping out with new name-brand clothes and shoes on.

Although my outfit was saying otherwise, I knew it wasn’t Christmas, so where did all this new gear come from? 🧐

“It’s your birthday?

“No.”

“Oh okay. I was just wondering because of your new clothes. They look nice.”

“Thanks. My daddy got it for me.”

“Really? That’s nice. I haven’t seen him before.”

“That’s because he doesn’t live with me. He gives my mommy money to give me stuff.”

”Hooooooold up,” I said to myself. “A parent is supposed to give the other money for clothes and shoes? How did my family not sign up for this? I think I may have solved our financial scarcity. Let me probe some more…” 

Okay, I didn’t use the word “probe” at the age of 8, but stay with me.

“So your dad gives your mom money for your clothes?”

“Yeah… yours doesn’t? He gives her something every month for that.”

“No, I don’t think my dad does.”

“Does your dad live with you?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s probably why. My mom and dad don’t live together.”

“That shouldn’t matter, though. Maybe my mom doesn’t know it. Once she knows about it, she can ask for it.”

I went home that day thinking I was about to change my mom’s life. Was she aware that she was supposed to get money every month from my dad? Where are these dads getting this money? How can I get in on this?

“Ma, does dad give you money each month?”

With a look of confusion mixed with mind your own business, she replied, “What are you talking about?”

“Dad’s supposed to give you money each month to support us. And there are four of us kids, so you’ll probably get more than my friend’s mom.”

🤔 My mom didn’t know what I was talking about. Poor thing (figuratively and literally). My dad didn’t even fill her in on the money program. Well, the jig is up, father!

When my dad came home from a long day, I gently brought it up.

“Dad, do you give mom money every month?”

He was tired, but he still found the energy to engage in my juvenile conversation. “Money for what?”

“I heard you’re supposed to give mom money every month to pay for our clothes and shoes.”

“We share money.”

You sly fox. Sharing money to get out of your monthly obligations, eh?

“No, dad. You’re supposed to give separate money for that. Dads that don’t live with their kids do that. I think you’re supposed to too.”

He laughed at the realization that I was talking about child support.

“Who told you that? One of your schoolmates? Your mommy and I are married. I’m not going anywhere, so I don’t give child support. I already support.”

Man. The golden ticket failed me.

After that conversation, I contemplated whether he could move out but remain married since it only applied to dads who lived elsewhere. Also, I never considered that child support would still be money coming from him, of which there was no surplus.

I used to envy those who had child support because that meant a shopping spree for new clothes every once in a while. My two-parent home didn’t do that.

I realize how utterly ridiculous that sounds today. I’m just letting you into the mind of a child who didn’t have much.

Some days I felt like Tevye from “Fiddler on the Roof”.

“Would it spoil some vast eternal plan? If I were a wealthy maaaaaan!”

If you don’t get that reference, and didn’t sing it in a deep, husky Jewish voice, reevaluate your life.

Mo’ money, mo’ problems. No money, still problems. I guess it just has to do with the type of problems you’re wanting. (I’ll take more money for $500, Alex. LOL!)

I wouldn’t change my childhood for anything, though. I came from a loving, close-knit Christian home. Our parents gave and continue to give their all to us. You can’t ask for too much more than that.

Plus, being without allows you to appreciate the little things.

The times my dad would turn the car into McDonald’s felt like we were going on a surprise trip to Disney World. We weren’t spoiled because we were in tune with the reality of what we could and could not afford. And more importantly, we grew our faith and resiliency because we realized that everything we earned came from God and hard work.

In this week’s podcast, I’ll dive deeper into the pros and cons of growing up broke. I’ll also break down how poor kids differ from rich kids mentally. See ya Friday!