Struggling in America - Ariel G.

My childhood did not prepare me for the real world. In a nutshell, dad worked hard to supply for our family; my stepmom stayed home with all 18 kids. I was homeschooled for most of my school years, although quite poorly, I am sad to say. My parents were ill-equipped and under-educated to be able to teach K-12 to 18 different kids, all with different strengths and weaknesses. Their way of teaching was “here is a book, read it and learn it.” I enjoyed learning, but by the time I was 15, I was only half-heartedly participating. We learned no social skills, no real life preparation. Jobs were out of the question for any of the girls in the family. We were expected to stay home and wait for prince charming to come and sweep dad off his feet, and then we would get married and stay home and have lots of babies, and cook and clean.

At 17, I joined the Navy. I had been kicked out of my parents' home for being ”rebellious”, and had been living with a neighbor family. This family tried to help my transition to normal life: The mom had given me a job; she was a manager at a gas station/fast food place.  They took me shopping for normal clothes, and talked to me about college. I really wanted to go to college, but without a diploma, GED, or transcripts, I couldn’t get any scholarships. I couldn’t qualify for federal aid because I wasn’t considered an independent student, and my dad refused to disclose his financial information.

My time on active duty was life changing. I met amazing people, learned a great job, went places I never dreamed I would go, and experienced things that have impacted me for the rest of my life. But on April 18th this year, my life drastically changed. I spent the last 5 ½ years on active duty in the Navy. It was an adventure, and something I loved being a part of, but at the end of my contract, I decided to transfer to reserves so I could have my baby, finish my degree, and widen my horizons, et cetera.  Unfortunately, my plans haven’t worked out exactly the way I expected. Believe me when I say the transition from military to civilian life is culture shock. The military has a support structure for its people that is unmatched by any other organization. They take good care of their people, and going from that, to nothing, was the hardest thing I have ever done.

 If any of you haven’t noticed, the job market isn’t that great, and I didn’t even know how to write a resume, or a cover letter, or even where to start when looking for a job. And don’t even mention networking. I’m not a huge people person. I had no idea how to go about getting health insurance (it’s free in the military, and hadn’t crossed my mind). I was planning to just go to school full time, but I ran into some problems with enrollments and have to wait until next semester. 

So with the job search continuing, and bills coming, I decided to apply for unemployment, which I had been hesitating to do. Growing up, I was told accepting any type of government aid was the lazy man’s way out, and was a disgrace to your name. It took my vet rep sitting me down and asking me how many months I spent on deployment away from my family, how many extra hours and weekends did I work without getting paid overtime, how many holidays did I miss, before I finally let go of that stigma. He told me to look at the 12 months, “no questions asked” unemployment insurance, WIC, and the state-run health insurance, as a type of thank you.

Let me add, that extra help is a lifesaver and the local work source has been amazing.  I’m still looking for a job while I wait for January for school to start. Hopefully I will find something soon, but in the meantime, at least I’m not completely lost anymore.

Struggling in America - Becca K.

When I was 9, my entire world was stripped from me. We no longer went to school or church. I couldn’t wear pants, couldn’t watch tv, listen to music, no more Christmas, and I was not to date ever. Any shred of childhood was ripped away at this point for me personally. I loved my parents, and I was young, so I didn’t fight them.

My dad passed away unexpectedly 11 days after I turned 13. I knew that, with our small world crumbling fast, I would have to be the new head of the family as the oldest child. We had no church, no family or friends really, and our extended family was hurt and upset by my family’s religious actions. SO when I say we had no one, I simply mean, without malice, that no one was there for us.

The Amish people came in and did the funeral, gave the eulogy, helped us bury him, cooked the funeral meal, wouldn’t take money from us, but instead gave US money, and for a good while, I had about 20 Amish and Mennonite pen pals as word quickly spread thru the plain people.

My mom slept all day long. She didn’t get up much. To be honest, quite a few of these years are a blur to me, but I remember being super poor. My mom refused to go out and get a job, instead relying on charity and mine and my brother’s social security.

We lived on the “better side” of our town, but it was still a ghetto (if you don’t believe me, my brothers and I were chased by hoodlums several times and I was almost kidnapped twice). I cleaned the house. I also homeschooled myself, and my brothers. I made our food, and I made our life look good from the outside looking in, so that if you had the chance to peek in our lives, all looked well. Whether it was true or not, I was responsible for the well being of our family. I had absolutely no idea that this was not my place.

I had no idea that as a 13 year old child, I didn’t have to carry this weight on my shoulders. When and how the bills were to be paid, where the money was going to come from, try and not get sick, and when I was sick to not tell my mom. Having to ask the doctor how much the stitches were each before he sutured me up was more painful than the wound being torn open in the first place.

My brothers and I paid for as much as we could with the little jobs we got here and there, mostly mowing lawns. My mother took the firm stance from the Bible that she was now a widow and was to be cared for by people that truly loved Jesus.  I protected and shielded my brothers from as much as I could and let them have as much freedom and childhood as they could possibly have.

It went without saying that we did not ask for extras. We didn’t even ask for things we needed. There was a Christmas, several really, that I went without much of a gift so my brothers could have the better gifts. My whole focus was on protecting them and having them remain as unscathed as possible. Looking back, I feel I probably did more harm than good. I was extremely embarrassed by how little we had. I had to make my own clothes, and wasn’t allowed to dress like a normal teenager, so it was doubly embarrassing to feel like a freak, and also be dirt poor.

This isn’t to say me and my brothers didn’t have fun. It was a much simpler fun and it was made up on our own. My brothers and I were extremely close growing up- we fought terribly, but we always, ALWAYS, had each other’s backs.  Once we had legit jobs- 17/18, it went without saying that we helped our mom as much as possible with our money. It was told to us that she didn’t deserve the life she got and it wasn’t her fault and that we were biblically required to take care of her and support her.

My brothers and I have good hearts. We love our mom. Still. We didn’t question this, and the few times we did, we were met with emotional and spiritual abuse in the form of 3 hour “devotions”, which consisted of her preaching to us about how God was going to provide and take care of her.

We saw cool things happen. A box with an entire Thanksgiving dinner (needing to be cooked and baked of course) was left on our front door step. I became well seasoned at shopping for clothes for my brothers from clearance racks and Goodwill.

I don’t think if you asked my brothers or I if we were deprived, that we would say yes, but I know the hardships we endured left a lasting impression on us. Different things affected us differently. All of us have very foggy recollections of this dark period in our lives. We are not angry at our mom, or relative, or even well meaning church elders. It’s over, and wasting emotional energy on the past is not conducive to anyone.  I am trying to make sure my children do not feel the weight of that responsibility too early. I didn’t have a childhood, so I pray I will get to enjoy theirs with them. So far, so good. Very good.

Struggling in America - M. Cordero

This is the third story in this series.  I am still collecting your stories on an ongoing basis.  My desire is to show many perspectives of real life in America where real people are or have struggled.  Please send them to crackedcornjimmy@gmail.com.

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I am exactly the kind of person you would expect to be on government assistance. Single mom with two kids.  And I love/hate that I fit that stereotype.

You see I have quite a few friends and acquaintances that don’t believe in welfare. They see it as people weaning off the government and too lazy to get off their a** and work. They picture a hoochie mama with six snotty nosed screaming kids in a rundown house on the wrong side of the tracks. They picture a clueless valley girl chatting on her bedazzled cellphone, pulling food stamps out of her Fendi purse to pay for steak and ice cream. They don’t realize that there are people who actually NEED assistance.

Well, I have worked in a grocery store where food stamps are accepted, meanwhile needing them myself because that part-time minimum wage job and the food stamps, were the only thing keeping me from being totally dependant on my parents for help, or running back to my cheating ex who treated me like garbage. In spite of having served for four and a half years in the Air Force, this was the only job I could get after getting out of the military.

The economy is bad and I don’t have a college degree yet, so my choices are limited. I’m not sitting around having a pity-party though. I will be starting my freshman year of college soon, and will one day be financially secure/stable. I will not take my success for granted, knowing that life was once difficult, and that I struggled to get by, month to month.

I used to feel differently about welfare. The first time I used WIC (Women, Infants, and Children vouchers) I looked around, nervous and embarrassed. My parents, though poor, would never have ventured into a welfare office if their life depended on it. They believed in staying debt free, but were never actually able to. My dad often worked two or three low paying jobs at a time, just to keep food on the table. One day there was no food. Some generous church people rallied together to bring us a box full of groceries. No offense to my parents, they did their best.

Even so, I would never deny my children food due to my own pride. And pride is exactly the problem with how people perceive governmental assistance. There are people who genuinely need the help. Those with lifelong disabilities, and those temporarily out of work alike. Churches, charities, and family can help only so much. If we pay taxes to the government, it’s only fair that the government be there for it’s citizens when they are down and out.

Struggling in America - Amanda B.

This is the first story in this series.  I am still collecting your stories on an ongoing basis.  My desire is to show many perspectives of real life in America where real people are or have struggled.  Please send them to crackedcornjimmy@gmail.com.

Amanda B's childhood sounds eerily similar to mine, though, in this story, she is tight lipped about how her mother affected her as an adult.  She became the head of the family at the age of twelve, due to her mother's extreme mental disabilities.  But, now, as an adult, she is killing life with the help of her awesome boyfriend.

Now, her story:

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My mother has been diagnosed with bi-polar disorder. She has yet to be diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, which I am sure she also has. She was diagnosed with nothing until I was 14 despite very obvious signs of serious disordered behavior. My father had been driven away over the years, sure that I would share my mother’s extreme views of their relationship. I was an only child. Both my parents came from large abusive families. The cards were stacked against all of us.

My mother did the best she could within the constraints of her disease. Keeping a job was difficult and by the time I was 12, totally impossible. By then I was picking up our food stamps, doing the shopping, and making any phone calls to utilities that needed to be made.

Life was difficult. I never went without food or clothes thanks to government programs but due to stress and poor nutrition my physical health was always terrible and my mental health suffered unspeakably.

I somehow figured out that the only way away from my mother’s life was an education. I worked hard and got both government and private scholarships. Of course, they couldn’t cover everything and loans were a necessity. I worked three part time jobs, went to school full time, and managed to graduate early.

By the age of 22 I was exhausted and feeling very much alone. I found a job that paid the bills, barely, but those damned loans were just enough to push me into financial insecurity. That and the fact that I’d never been taught how to handle money. I was clueless about saving, budgeting, what to sacrifice/gamble with and what to spend on. It seemed every month the bank was charging me fees. I just became more exhausted, more jaded, and more likely to ignore phone calls from numbers I didn’t know.

Thankfully, a few years ago help came in the form of my boyfriend. He came from an upper middle class family and had savings before he even went to college. He helped me pay my back bills and taught me how to budget and save. He made me confront my anxiety and shame surrounding my finances. He gave me hope that one day I might not be fighting just to get by.

We live together now; my amazing guy teaching me how normal people live and pulling me back from the edge my mother delights in bringing me to. But it’s still hard. My finances are better but not perfect. I have health insurance but I spend a lot on therapy. I’m going back to school to get my masters but I’m taking more loans out to do it. I hope one day to have a job that truly contributes to our little family, to not fear answering my phone, and to be part of the middle class. In short, I hope, one day, to not feel as though I’m drowning.

Struggling in America - Victoria P.

This is the first story in this series.  I am still collecting your stories on an ongoing basis.  My desire is to show many perspectives of real life in America where real people are or have struggled.  Please send them to crackedcornjimmy@gmail.com.

Victoria's story is a perfect one to kick this off.  She writes about her parents' struggles in raising her and her sister due to their severe disabilities.  Victoria is now a successful person and is a true testament to what America can do when we pull together.

Now...her story:

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My experiences involve disability and illness. My mother was a polio survivor, stricken at age three, and paralyzed from the waist down. She was able to walk with braces and crutches. She also suffered from rheumatoid arthritis. My father was in a work-related accident before they met, and suffered traumatic brain injury. They actually met in a government sponsored rehabilitation training class at a local Y in 1952. The company that employed my father at the time of his injury was at fault, and in today’s environment, there would have been a massive lawsuit. However, my father’s parents never considered that, I don’t really know why. The company took my father back when he was able to work, and kept him on as long as they could, possibly out of worry about such a suit.

My father was able to recover enough to continue working, and my parents married about 3 years after meeting. My mother’s disabilities and health meant our family sometimes needed help, however. This mostly came through government programs. My father’s family was pretty well-off, but had been dead set against the marriage for some reason, and had actually tried to “buy my mother off” by offering her money to call off the wedding. They pretty much disowned my father after he defied them and they wrote us off. My mother’s parents helped as much as they could, but they were elderly and not well off.

I was born a couple of years after they married. From the time I could toddle, I was the most “able bodied” person in the house, and my relatives tell stories of seeing me acting as my mother’s legs as early as two. My sister was born when I was about seven, and I know I did a lot of the child-care. The pregnancy was very hard on my mother, and she was restricted to bed for the last months. She never walked again, but was confined to a wheelchair. By the time I was ten, I was mostly running the house, in terms of cooking, cleaning and such, while attending school. I never resented this. I understood the need early on, and I always felt that having these responsibilities helped me to grow up both confident in my abilities to handle what life throws at me, and compassionate towards those around me. I think that’s a pretty good combination, and not as common as I would like.

When my sister was two, a calcified aneurysm in my father’s brain shifted, causing further damage. He suffered a massive seizure, and almost died. He had to be medically retired. He received Social Security disability, State Worker’s Compensation, (since his disability was caused in a work-related accident) and a small company pension. My mother was able to earn some money as a custom seamstress, and later taught sewing for a retail outlet, but her earnings were always meager. Her own disability wouldn’t permit much of a work schedule. I was nine at the time, not exactly able to shoulder the burden of supporting my parents, no matter how responsible I might have been.

Again, my father’s family was of no help. I don’t know why. My mother’s family helped as much as they could. My parents were active in a main-line Christian church, and they did the usual “casserole” sort of assistance, which was appreciated, but they couldn’t do much more. No one person or small group can. The burden of supporting a family is too great. Without governmental “entitlements” our lives would have been hell. The family would have been broken up, my sister and I would have gone into foster care, and my parents would have most likely died.

I took care of my parents to the best of my ability, and helped raise my sister. We both went to college with the help of Pell Grants and scholarships, and are both professionals today. She’s a teacher, and I’m a graphic designer. We’re both married. She has two sons whereas my husband and have decided not to have children.  My parents have both passed away, my mother at 49, due in part to a collapsing spine as the result of the polio damage, and my father at 62, due to damage caused by another shift in the aneurysm that disabled him. However, they lived fairly dignified, happy lives under the limitations they faced. I consider our family to be a success story, one that might not have happened in the world as the current incarnation of the Republican Party would have it be.

Private charity couldn’t have done this. No private group can take care of a family, raising children from nine and two, providing shelter, medical needs, and care for two frail adults until they die. The burden is too great, the need lasts too long. Also, the dignity I spoke of is a factor. People seem to want to see those who are suffering beg, and to be able to sit in judgment of them. Frankly, that’s creepy. You can never know the pain of another person, and we often judge others by standards we ourselves couldn’t meet. Saying, “Those other slobs are lazy, and shouldn’t get help, but I’m truly deserving,” is all too common.

As to those who say my sister and I shouldn’t have been born to disabled parents, remember, my father was able to work for the first seven years of my life. There was no way of knowing that this old injury could rear up and bite him years after it occurred. The future is always in motion, and no one is truly secure. We are all one accident or illness from helplessness. Also, if my sister and I hadn’t been born, my parents would still have been there. They still would have needed care. In the end, because my sister and I grew up and were able to care for our parents in their later years, society was most likely saved a great deal of money.

New Series: Struggling in America

I want your story.  I want it raw.  I want to hear from real Americans.

I grew up Republican.  My family believed that everyone had a fair and equal chance of being successful.  If you were poor, it was simply because you didn't work hard enough.  If you lived paycheck to paycheck, it was because you were bad at handling money.  Even though my mother used the welfare system, we did so in secret and looked down on others, politically, for doing the same thing, viewing them as lazy.

Then I grew up and began to live real life.  I used the government to put myself through school and so is my wife, currently.  I used food stamps for many years while I struggled to make ends meet, pre-college.  Then, the government slowly weaned us off of them as my salary grew.  We also used federal medical assistance for years throughout all six of Kristine's pregnancies.  Now, our children are on the Minnesota state program for a fee and my wife and I are paying cash for our infrequent medical care.

We are a middle class family, one paycheck from disaster, looking to better ourselves in the future - and we used government help to do it.  But that isn't necessarily the kinds of stories I'm looking for.  I want to see real and raw life.  If you have never used government assistance, I want to hear about it. If you have used it, I want your story too!

No politician from any party has all the answers and even the good answers' best laid plans will not work for all situations (maybe even most).  Life is simply too nuanced to be able to fit onto a 30 page application.  I want to show the world this fact through your eloquent words.

Send me your story to crackedcornjimmy@gmail.com.  The only editing I will do will be grammatical and spelling.  I will keep the story intact.

Love,

I. C.