Today, October 15th, is Blog Action Day.  What’s Blog Action Day, you ask?  Well, apparently you didn’t read this post.

Anyway, this is it…my post about poverty.

Oddly, Bossy, one of the most awesomest bloggers in the blogiverse, has just recently started Bossy’s Poverty Party, where she and her readers discuss finances, getting out of debt, and share tips, hints, suggestions, and moral support.  Perhaps you noticed the badge in the sidebar over there on the right?  (If you’re reading this in your Google or other reader, you’ll want to ignore that last question or, if you’re curious, you can click over to the real blog and see the entire sidebar for yourself.)

Talk about being calendarly coincidental, eh?

I’ve been lucky in my life.  I was raised in your average, run-of-the-mill, middle-of-the-road family.  While my siblings and I weren’t spoiled like most kids are today (I can’t even count how many people I know who buy their kids cars when they turn 16), we had a comfortable existence.

When I graduated from college, I had student loans.  Fortunately, I was able to live with my parents for a while after college, which allowed me to pay my student loans and buy a car.  My first job (and several after that) paid crap, so living with my parents was quite helpful, if not ideal.

Then there was apartment living for quite a few years.  I was lucky enough to find a place with pretty cheap rent, which meant I was able to save some money…which was convenient, because the apartment had no insulation and, therefore, I needed quite a bit of those savings to pay the damned gas bill every winter.  It was during this time that the sweater, fleece, sweatshirt, socks, and slippers portions of my wardrobe increased exponentially.

It was during this time…while I was living in my igloo apartment… that I was volunteering for an organization that served, for the most part, people who had some serious financial difficulties.  The family I was assigned to consisted of Granny, Granny’s husband, and Granny’s six grandchildren.  Granny’s daughter and son-in-law, the parents of these children, were not really in the picture and, frankly, it was better that way.  Trust me on this one.

At any rate, Granny and her husband both worked minimum wage (or very slightly above minimum wage) jobs to support Granny’s six grandchildren.  Amazingly, at least to me, they managed.  The kids qualified for the free breakfast and lunch program at school and Granny and her husband worked opposite shifts, so they didn’t have to pay a babysitter.  While they received a very small monthly amount in government assistance, it wasn’t even enough to pay the gas bill in the winter.  So, they shopped at yard sales and got hand-me-downs (toys and clothes) from friends and relatives.  Granny’s husband had a car that he and his friends kept running and Granny either took the bus to and from work or she caught a ride with a neighbor.  They lived in a three-bedroom apartment that was always (at least whenever I was there) neat, clean, and orderly.  The kids were always clean, dressed appropriately, and seemed happy.  They laughed and played and fought with each other, and they had a huge Sunday dinner a couple of hours after returning home from church.  Granny and her family lived in poverty, but had I not known the intimate details of the family’s finances, I would not have known that.  They were getting by, but by the skin of their teeth…and that included help from friends, relatives, their church.

Where am I going with this?  Honestly, I’m not sure.  But I always think of Granny and her family around this time of year.  And with the exception of giving money/food to homeless people I’ve occasionally encountered out in the wild, Granny and her family are my most intimate encounter with poverty.

The last time I saw them was in the month of October several years ago.  I remember this because, on my way to their house for a visit, I stopped at Furhman’s Cider Mill and bought them a couple of gallons of cider, a bunch of gingerbread man cookies, and a few pumpkins for them to carve.  We weren’t supposed to buy gifts for our clients, but it was almost Halloween and I couldn’t imagine that some snacks and a couple of pumpkins would really cause a problem.  And even if I had gotten in trouble for it, it would have been worth it, because the kids and Granny (Granny’s husband was at work) were thrilled.  I mean Absolutely Thrilled.  And now, every October, especially when I get a hankering for cider, I think about Granny and the kids and think about looking them up to see how they’re doing and if there’s anything I can do to help them.  Unfortunately, one of the rules of the organization I volunteered for was that after the case was closed, the volunteers weren’t really supposed to have any further contact with the family.  But since I’m no longer an active volunteer with that organization, I’m wondering if I’m still bound by those rules.

Even if I am, that doesn’t stop some other nameless, faceless person from looking up Granny and passing on a little help.  Because although I’m not rich by any stretch of the imagination, I am lucky…lucky to have been born into the family I was and lucky to still have family who would be there to help me if hard times hit.  And I think I need to pass on a little luck to someone else.

Which brings me to the topic for my next Bossy’s Poverty Party post:  passing it on/paying it forward/karma/just plain ol’ being nice.  Stay tuned.

October 15th, 2008 | Category: Bossy's Poverty Party | Subscribe to comments | Leave a comment | Trackback URL