Memories of Hard Times
I remember my father sitting at his small desk with his head in his hands, staring down at the bills before him. How would he pay them?
Money was tight during most of my childhood. My parents, owners of a small retail store (see A Personal Story), lived with the uncertainty of not knowing how much of their inventory would be sold on any one day.
As a child growing up in these circumstances, I sensed my parents' worries and felt bad for them. Yet they were always there for me; they somehow managed to meet my needs - food, clothes, school books and love.
I did not feel deprived. I did not care whether my "new" clothes came from a store or a bag of lovely hand-me-downs from well-to-do relatives. I enjoyed the home-cooked meals and did not wish to eat at a restaurant. I did not need to own the latest gadget; I had my siblings to play with. Watching television and reading library books were my refuge from the sometimes harsh reality.
We lived in an apartment that had four rooms besides the kitchen and one bathroom. The rooms were transformed according to the needs of the family; the dining room became our living room, a child's bedroom was used for a boarder. I remember the kitchen above all. I don't recall its size, but imagine it to be about 9x12 feet - the size of my laundry room today.
On one side of the kitchen was the table, surrounded by six chairs, squeezed tightly into the space between the wall and the washing machine and sink. On the other side was the stove, refrigerator, and two counters topped by cabinets. The kitchen was the warmest place in the house, filled with the noise of a lively family. I can still picture my mother standing at the sink washing dishes and my father at the stove, wearing an apron, cooking eggs for breakfast.
Above all, I remember the songs. We sang throughout our Sabbath meals, often in harmony, bringing home tunes from school or various social events. In between the songs we talked, teased, fought and had a great time. We siblings remain close even now. We always knew that, in a pinch, we were there for each other.
Hard times taught us to count on family. That's not a bad lesson to learn.
Money was tight during most of my childhood. My parents, owners of a small retail store (see A Personal Story), lived with the uncertainty of not knowing how much of their inventory would be sold on any one day.
As a child growing up in these circumstances, I sensed my parents' worries and felt bad for them. Yet they were always there for me; they somehow managed to meet my needs - food, clothes, school books and love.
I did not feel deprived. I did not care whether my "new" clothes came from a store or a bag of lovely hand-me-downs from well-to-do relatives. I enjoyed the home-cooked meals and did not wish to eat at a restaurant. I did not need to own the latest gadget; I had my siblings to play with. Watching television and reading library books were my refuge from the sometimes harsh reality.
We lived in an apartment that had four rooms besides the kitchen and one bathroom. The rooms were transformed according to the needs of the family; the dining room became our living room, a child's bedroom was used for a boarder. I remember the kitchen above all. I don't recall its size, but imagine it to be about 9x12 feet - the size of my laundry room today.
On one side of the kitchen was the table, surrounded by six chairs, squeezed tightly into the space between the wall and the washing machine and sink. On the other side was the stove, refrigerator, and two counters topped by cabinets. The kitchen was the warmest place in the house, filled with the noise of a lively family. I can still picture my mother standing at the sink washing dishes and my father at the stove, wearing an apron, cooking eggs for breakfast.
Above all, I remember the songs. We sang throughout our Sabbath meals, often in harmony, bringing home tunes from school or various social events. In between the songs we talked, teased, fought and had a great time. We siblings remain close even now. We always knew that, in a pinch, we were there for each other.
Hard times taught us to count on family. That's not a bad lesson to learn.
posted by Dr. Spiegel at
9:26 AM
1 Comments:
I think it was the love and care of your parents that taught you that you could count on family. Not the hard times. As a child, number five out of six kids, I remember the hard times my parents went through financially. Sometimes my mother couldn't go to the store to buy food because they had no money. But that didn't bother me as much as the constant fighting and lack of a listening and caring parental heart.
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Anonymous, at Sunday, March 08, 2009
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