It dawned on me, that, growing up poor, I have an ingrained, conditioned need to place a monetary value on things.
That's the same principle that impels us to "finish our plate" despite the fact that we're no longer hungry.
Victor, someone I met and interracted with in the 60's, used to intentionally "leave" some of his dinner on the plate at Luby's Cafeteria because that's what "rich people do." Somehow, I doubt those food scrapings impressed the wait staff or the dishwasher.
My paternal grandmother, who raised a family through the depression, frequently used the phrase "the ritzy" to describe the affluent, and so, tried to emulate such "ritzy" as she went about her daily life of collecting every penny pop bottle she encountered. Despite her efforts, it's doubtful she was ever mistaken for "ritzy."
When I was a kid, most soft drink bottles could be returned for the original 3 cent deposit, although some were only worth a penny. What a letdown it was to learn about the nearly worthless penny deposit bottles!
Some tightwad shopkeepers would only accept bottles for refund in their original cardboard six-pack containers, but, most were not that stringent.
When I was around five years old, I disappeared from home for an extended period, checking out who knows what in my neighborhood. On my return, my flustered, worried father let me know that I'd caused him "five dollar's worth" of anxiety. Even then, I remember thinking it odd to place a monetary value on worry.
Now, at age 75, rather than enjoy the extraordinary craftsman woodworking and furnishings of our 1900 vintage airbnb on the Des Moines River, I focus on the $550 per week rental that flies out of our bank account, mentally adding it to the cost of renting our unoccupied Brownsville apartment.
Yes, that's the thinking of a lifelong cheapskate, someone "born poor" who "thinks poor."
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As an embedded cheapskate, someone like Jay Leno bothers me, even though I share his preoccupation and love for the cars of yesteryear.
I'm not sure I'd be comfortable with millions of dollars of cars in my garage, most I could only get around to driving once a year or never.
Strangely, I link that to the Biblical King Solomon and his "600 wives and concubines," if you gather my drift or pattern of thought.
Anyway, now that I've finally identified myself as a "cheapskate," someone who "thinks poor," what can I do about it?
Likely nothing. There's probably no form of self treatment and I'm certainly not paying "good money" for therapy.
Please write about what you discovered in your neighborhood when you were 5 years old. Where did you go? Were you scared? Were you lost or you knew what you were doing?
ReplyDeleteActually, I ended up in a park that I'd never seen before, not far from my house, and just got mesmerized by the play equipment. At some point I realized I'd been gone too long and started running back home to face the music. About three years later, when I got a bicycle, I remember traveling as far away as the next town, but no one ever found out about that.
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