Recognizing my own Privilege, as well as the Normalization of Hardship for the Working Class

I didn’t know I was ‘the poor’ until VERY recently.

…so it’s a long one. It just kept coming out, like word vomit!

I CAN’T STOP ASKING THE WORD ‘WHY,’ and I probably won’t. This is just how my brain works. Sorry, not sorry.

I don’t have a memory of this per-se, but my dad says the moment he ‘realized I would be smart,’ was when I was about 2 and got SO EXCITED because I recognized a letter of the alphabet out in the wild: it was a ‘W’ on a Wienerschnitzel sign.

The downside of my curiosity and wonder, however, is that I tend to get emotionally upset when I don’t/can’t understand something.

My parents ALWAYS supported me, even though I didn’t always get it

When I was in first or second grade, we had a presentation project on “what I like to do for fun,” which basically made me realize that everyone else in my class had some sort of hobby and I didn’t. I wanted so badly to be in dance, gymnastics, or singing lessons. (I already had ‘expensive’ tastes.) My parents put me in piano lessons, because one of my classmates’ parents recommended an affordable retired woman as a teacher. They also bought me a 68-key Yamaha keyboard, which I used through college and today.

I WAS SO MAD. I didn’t understand why I had to learn to play piano when I just wanted to sing. I loved singing with the radio, and I wanted to learn to do it better. I didn’t practice as much as I should have or needed to, and my teacher reprimanded me, which further reinforced my idea that ‘the adults were being mean to me.’ I didn’t get why I couldn’t do what I wanted, and no one explained it to me in a satisfactory enough way. So I assumed the worst. (I started earlier than most with the angst.)

What I didn’t understand, was that my parents were paying $150 a month for my private schooling, in addition to the mortgage for our double-wide trailer (in the neighborhood of Meadowlake, if you know, you know,) and feeding our family and two cats. I remember going with my dad (who was my primary caretaker while mom was working) was in and out of doctors’ and lawyers’ offices trying to get on disability. Before he met my mother, he used to have a GREAT job at Lockheed Martin. He was pretty much as high up the chain as you could go without a college degree. Unfortunately, it was also that job that caused his disability through chemical exposure, and the company didn’t want to accept responsibility. My mom was pretty much the sole breadwinner for our family, as a waitress/walmart employee/ solo cup factory worker. Whatever she had to do until she was able to go back to school herself. (Mom, Dad, if you’re reading this, thank you. I’m sorry I complained about everything so much.)

I didn’t play well with others

I was always comparing myself to my peers. Why are their uniforms cuter, brighter? Why is my hair a tangled rats nest (my dad tried his best) when the other girls have these fancy hairstyles every day, with these pretty bows and accessories? Why? Why? Why?

So of course, I ASKED them. And when you ask someone something they don’t know the answer to, sometimes they feel some type of way about it. Especially kids. If they don’t know, and you keep pestering them, they tend to get angry. Then they call you ‘weird’ and don’t want to play with you anymore.

In case you couldn’t already tell, I got, ‘bright, but talks too much’ written on the comments of every. single. report card.

Public School

Ingrate that I was, I was SO EXCITED to go to public school for the first time in 6th grade. I made friends easily (whaaaaat??) for the first time, because I was already learning to ‘talk less, smile more.’ And the school work was so much easier! I was free to let my mind wander quietly more often since I didn’t have to pay very much attention to the teacher. (Also, I hate that quiet kids are labeled as ‘stupid’ sometimes, when their mind is actually just elsewhere.) The school also had a beginning band, which I was FORCED (for my own good, probably) to join. Okay, I thought, I want to play the biggest thing there is! I want to play saxophone!

The problem with that, is that saxophone’s are more expensive than clarinets and flutes, and I vaguely recall some weird sexism at hand from our (fresh out of college, white, male) music teacher about females not playing the big instruments. There was ONE girl who was allowed to play sax, but I think her mother had to complain to the school.

So, how did I respond to being forced to play yet ANOTHER instrument that I hated? I ditched band practice.

My love of reading

To clarify; band practice was during school, not an after school program, so I wasn’t wandering the streets of Los Lunas as an 11 year old. It was also during Accelerated Reading time, a period of the day where students were encouraged to either bring their own material from home (which not everyone had) or read a library book. By this time, I had already fallen in love with reading (another surprisingly expensive hobby.) I was always excited for library days; we got to pick a new book every week! There were SO MANY! I wanted to read them ALL! I loved fiction novels best, because they transported me to fantastic new places, with new characters having amazing adventures.

Also, another amazing bonus of the AR program, you could take tests on books to receive points, and once every so often, you could SPEND those points at a ‘store’ for little toys and trinkets. Books at higher reading levels were worth more points, so of course I raked them all in on the Harry Potter tests. I felt so cool ‘buying’ stuff for me and my friends.

Back to the issue of my privilege: not every kid’s parents encouraged reading. Not every kid’s parents read them bedtime stories from a young age, and then had the child read the bedtime stories to them when they were able. I count myself fortunate in this regard. On the other hand, I feel uncomfortable when I’m complemented on being ‘so articulate,’ because it implies an assumption that I shouldn’t be, for some reason.

My parents also always bought me at least one book every time I came home from school with a Scholastic magazine and order form. At private school, I noticed the kids didn’t seem to care much about these, and at public school, many kids pretended they weren’t interested because their parents wouldn’t get them anything anyway.

How did I know that they actually WANTED the books? Well, a CD that came with one was stolen from me.

This particular girl was a known thief, and it would be really easy to just label her as a kleptomaniac and be done with it, which I did at the time because I didn’t understand her motivations. We weren’t exactly friends, but we were friendly, and I remember feeling so confused and shocked that she would do that. Maybe she just wanted to learn how to sing, too.

I let the teacher know that the CD was missing from the book, naively thinking it was a publishing error, but she knew better. She found the CD and my classmate got in a lot of trouble for it.

A lot of change, and a big tantrum

Toward the end of 6th grade, our home was forclosed on. Do you remember the recession? It affected a lot of people, but I didn’t know that yet. I STILL was in denial that we were poor, because I was able to villianize the bank that took our home away. And they were objectively terrible for doing that, but that’s capitalism for you. To get ahead, you need to step on some toes, or lives. One of my parents’ acquaintances from the St. Mary’s school board sold property, and gave us a ‘great deal’ (please imagine me heavily rolling my eyes at that phrase) on a used single-wide trailer, and piece of property on the mesa in Belen.

I WAS SO MAD that we had to move. I still didn’t get it. I loved my large bedroom, and the beautiful acre yard that my father had spent 10 years cultivating and gardening. I loved the fence that my grandpa had helped my father finish (remember, my dad is physically disabled. All construction jobs take him a little longer) in one day, when my grandparents visited for my First Holy Communion.

Our neighbor had a truck, and helped us move. My dad paid him in trees. We quite literally uprooted the pines, yuccas, and fruit trees my dad had grown, took a few with us, and gave the rest to him. I hope he’s doing well. (I’m still a little salty that he got the plum tree though.) I remember being so mad. I grabbed markers and paint and drew graffiti all over my closet walls. I also put on my mother’s steel toe boots that she had bought for the solo-cup factory job and kicked holes in the wall.

What was even WORSE, they told me I had to go back to St. Mary’s!! They didn’t like that the public school wasn’t challenging me enough, and we were going to be moving much closer anyways. I threw a fit screaming and crying on the floor, because all I remembered of St. Mary’s was the kids being mean because I was ‘weird.’

I made a couple friends this time, but I still read at recess a lot.

High School!! I’m able to sing now!!

I joined choir and loved it so much. I participated in fundraisers (as much as possible, its hard in a small town when everyone is kind of poor) and went to every single event I was able to. I also finally had a

My senior year, I signed up for both calculus and show choir, not realizing they were scheduled for the same period. I really wanted to drop calc, because I didn’t need another math credit to graduate. I also dropped science this year, and two electives because they weren’t required and I only cared about choir and drama class anyways. But they wouldn’t let me drop calc! I remember getting in a huge fight with my mom about this.

The class offered dual credit for college, and she encouraged me to do as much dual credit as possible so that I’d have an easier time in college. I didn’t GET it. School was easy for me! Why was she so concerned about this dual credit stuff? I talked to both of my teachers as well. My choir teacher advised me to do what I wanted (a wild concept, to be sure for me) and my math teacher basically said if they were forcing me to stay, that he’d let me miss class if I wanted to go to show choir, as long as I showed up enough to pass the class. My choir teacher agreed to this decision.

I got an A in calc and participated in all of the show choir performances, and I think this was the start of my sometimes dangerous habit of trying to do everything all at once.

College

My parents freaked out when I told them I wanted to pursue a music degree. I was so gifted in math, I should do engineering! That’s where the money is! Anything but an ART degree! We compromised and I went for music education, which has a bit more job security than a performance degree would have. Anyone who knows me, knows that I still haven’t finished, but I’m so close (literally three classes away) and I’m determined to have that expensive piece of paper to show for all my hard work.

I think this is long enough for now, college can be a whole other post on its own (it probably will be at some point) but if you want to see all the jobs I tried to juggle during college to get by, head over to my about page and scroll to the ‘What I’ve done other than music’ section.

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How do we recognize our own privilege and hardships? Well, by listening to others’ stories. Reflect, compare them to your own, draw conclusions. Keep listening. Don’t reject someone’s reality in favor of your own; accept that we all have different life experiences, and that they are all valid.

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Tl;dr: My parents sacrificed a lot for me, and while I’m grateful, I wish they didn’t have to. Thanks, Mom and Dad. I love you.