The Kid Inside Me

I doubt at this point in my life it will ever happen.  I hope I never get to the point where I stop enjoying the little things that life has to offer.

Last week, I wrote about eight good things that had taken place recently. I think I am very good at appreciating what life has to offer. Honestly though, I know I have been envious of many at different times. That's just human nature.

Maybe it all began when I was young and my parents really did not have a lot of anything including money.

The first world I remember was the bedroom I shared with my brother and later on my sister too.

It was a long narrow room with a solitary window on the outside wall.  Into this shoe box shaped room were bunk beds, a rather large closet that stuck out from the wall, a raw wood platform about 12 inches high which held large toilet paper boxes in which our toys were kept.  Eventually my parents squeezed a crib into the small space too.  I don't think there was more than 12 to 18 inches between the bed and the crib.

Our kitchen was so small that the refrigerator actually sat in the hallway behind our front door and next to the dumbwaiter.

A living room was at the end of the hallway and french doors led to my parents room.

It was a pretty common layout in Bronx apartments.

I think I had a sense of awareness my parents did not have much money.  They did try to make sure we had what we needed but not all we wanted.

I never took for granted the shopping trips for schools clothes, trips to the Bronx Zoo on free admission days or any of the occasional treats they could afford.

As a kid you do remember the little things.  Not having a pack of tissues in school, getting sensible shoes, putting rubber bands around the tops of knee socks where the elastic has lost is stretchiness and using a bar of soap to not only bathe with but to wash your hair with too (there was no such thing as shampoo which was a luxury item). At the school assemblies on Wednesday, we were required to wear a white shirt and red tie.  For some reason, my parents didn't have a girl's bow-tie for me so I had to wear a red boys tie instead. I always dreamed about being on the hot lunch line with some of my friends but was always on the brown bag or lunchbox line.  To me the thought of a hot lunch was for the rich.  We did pay a small amount to get milk at lunch and we didn't dare lose out lunch tag which proved we had paid for our milk.  I even viewed the kids who had chocolate milk or orange drink with eyes green with envy. I couldn't help but dream about being one of those kids who had those fancy book-covers all shiny with pictures on them  as compared to mine made from brown paper bags

Most anything we had was practical, sensible and had a lifetime guarantee.

I can remember the thrill of getting a blue bic ballpoint pen.  It cost 19 cents at the time.  To me it was so much better than the number two pencils my mother used to sharpen for us with a knife. Or sometimes, I would wait until I got to school and use the classroom pencil sharpener which gave them the real pointy edge versus the kind of funny shape the point of a pencil would have when the knife was used at home.

I still now these many years later use my pens until every bit of ink has run out .  Old habits die hard.

This year, I have been fortune enough to get some new kitchen appliances and a new car. Part of me feels a sense of guilt.

Why you might ask?

The memory of that little girl from the South Bronx is still lurking around.

The times I saw my parents struggle haven't faded as much as I had hoped.

I still know the meaning of a buck.

Maybe that is why I still appreciate a new pen (although they are now gel pens that I love), having a few extra emergency bucks in my wallet and always, always having a packet of kleenex gives me a sense of security.

See you next week.