I'm writing this post at the request of a friend, who recently spent a stretch of time with a couple of people whom I can only describe as "entitled," based on what he has told me about them. I do not know who they are, or really anything else about them, but I do know that we all, to some degree, take things for granted that other people don't have the luxury of having.
The people in question were said to have complained about things like service, "public" golf courses, "bad" areas of town (which, in reality, really weren't that bad), among other things. They looked down on things like shopping at Walmart. They drive brand new SUVs and use their parents' credit cards.
Now, obviously, there are few people who are in their situation. A good chunk of the U.S. population floats somewhere between "getting by" and being "comfortable." And those of a higher socio-economic class whose behavior can be described as "entitled" become anything from mildly irritating to downright disgusting to those of us who didn't always get the things we wanted-- or needed.
I used to be one of the ones who found that kind of behavior appalling. A part of me still does... but then I ask myself, how could they know?
I promised myself that this blog wasn't going to become a narrative about my life-- that it was more about thoughts and ideas that I might have-- but the following is something that I think is relevant to this post.
Until recently, I wasn't even a part of the people who could say they were "getting by." I was more in the "almost getting by" category... sometimes dipping into "almost not getting by."
I've been homeless more than once.
I was raised by a single mother and a string of her not-so-great boyfriends.
I know what it's like to be told that "Santa Clause might not come this year."
I know what it's like to go to the grocery store and have to put food back because we were out of food stamps.
I know what it's like to be the only one in my class who didn't order school photos or a year book.
We used to go out to dinner once or twice a year, on special occasions, because we couldn't afford it.
We got new clothes twice a year: an outfit for our first day of school, and at the end of January, when the tax return came in the mail.
My mom would work multiple minimum wage jobs just to keep our stomachs full and a roof over our head. As an uneducated Filipino woman, that's all she could do.
My high school English teacher used to buy me bread, peanut butter, and jelly to keep in the teacher's lounge so that I could eat lunch every day. Sometimes it was my only meal.
And none of that was even the worst of it.
This isn't meant to be a sob story. In fact, at the time, it didn't seem as bad as it sounds now that I'm writing it down. But the point is, I know what it's like to be at the bottom. To have next to nothing.
And I knew, to some degree, what it was like to have everything, even before I actually did. Because I would always dream about it. I would always imagine what it was like. But if you grow up having everything, you don't spend your days imagining what it was like to be poor. You don't imagine going to bed hungry or wearing shoes that are too small until you can afford to buy new ones. So how can they know?
They can't. It's as simple as that. So when I hear someone scoff at others who buy clothes at Walmart, or if I hear people complain about the service they receive at a restaurant or fast food place, I don't feel anger toward them. I feel sad for the family who can't afford to buy their clothes at the Gap, and for the single mom or dad or grandparent who is too tired from working at their second or third job to get every order exactly right.
When people find the need to express their disgust when entering a "bad" area of town, I feel sad for the people living there... the 80% who aren't involved in the shootings and stabbings and drug dealing. The ones who live there because they can't afford to live anywhere else. The Somalians and Sudanese and Filipinos and Cambodians and Latinos who came to america to have a better life, and who are grateful to make even enough to survive. Who do their best to learn English so that they can work, when they don't have so much as a middle school education. I feel sad for the Americans who have lived there their whole lives, who don't have enough social capital to move up in the world. Who hate and compete with the immigrants because they're willing to work for less. For anything.
I feel sad for the people who weren't lucky, like me. Who didn't have people helping them get out.
And I feel sad for the people who know that they are being looked down upon, simply because they weren't born with enough money in their pockets and food in their stomachs.
And I can only hope that when we encounter those who are less fortunate, we see them with an open mind and give them the respect that every human being deserves. And when we encounter those who are disrespectful, we remind them that there are people who endure more in a month than they ever will in their lifetime, and that they should be grateful for what they have.
And here's the other thing: not all skinny girls fit into the "ideal" either. We don't all have hourglass figures, and a good number of us are quite insecure about it. We're built like teenage boys-- small chested, and hardly a nice ass in sight. You're curvy; we're shaped like a column. You're feminine, we're androgynous. Larger women might try their hand at exercise routines and diet pills, while we get implants and invent ridiculous things like padded underwear and push up bras.
