agnosticrat

My father when I was growing up worked two, sometimes three jobs to keep me and my siblings in shoes. He would be up and gone from the house before I saw him in the mornings. In the evenings he would come home after I went to bed, and this went on for years.
My brothers being older could stay up later and spend time with him, and I have to say to their benefit. I hardly knew him as a person and to this day find it difficult to talk to him the way a son should talk to their father. Being the youngest I was more flighty, and probably still am a little more than annoying to a man that worked as hard as he did.
Mom worked part time jobs sewing, and from what I understand was more than competent at it. She would take in jobs farmed out by the local "guru" of home decorating and made a decent wage. When I came home from school for lunches she would clear a spot on our dining room table ( her workspace) for me to sit at, and would talk to me over the hum of a singer sewing machine while I ate.
Things were like this for quite a while in the early seventies, and by today's standards some would say they were "working poor". Although there was always food on the table and us kids always had shoes. As the youngest I must admit my shoes were the fashion of the year before, and as I got older started to tell my brother the style I would like when he outgrew what would end up on my feet.
My clothes would always be last years fashion, as many of you know sidewalk sales meant good savings for children's clothes, as they would always change the patterns every year. I distinctly remember the year bellbottoms were no longer the style, as I am sure my mothers trusty Singer would remember the hours of stitching them to boot cut size. At the price they could not be passed up.
My mothers sewing machine had no fancy programmed stitches. It had two, zig-zag and straight. It was bought with the clear intention of being what it was. A work horse.
My parents scrimped, and saved where they could and bought brand new, if by a forum of the two felt it was a special occasion enough. They would buy things at bargain basement prices , and managed to pay their house off the year before I graduated from school. They had me deliver the final payment to a neighbor two blocks up, as his father had sold it to my parents on land contract. My mother has always told me how she didn't like the house, until it was paid for.
We would have a great Christmas every year, with all the toys a child would want. Clothes would sometimes be too big for us, but if they didn't fit perfectly my mother would have them to size by the end of the week. When we grew larger too quickly for them, we found she had hemmed them in such a way as to be able to let them out by pulling a few stitches. A miracle worker to be sure.
Here is the kicker, the thing I never realized until I had moved out on my own. They did it without a credit card. Sure my parents responded to an application and carried a credit card with them "for emergencies". They layed away, made payments on, and fenagled what they could when they could. But when the credit card company wanted to charge them for simply carrying the card, (because the never used it) my father cut into pieces. With a little hard work, and self restraint I also have ditched the credit card, and now I understand that my family was not poor, my parents were just smart.
Happy Mothers Day, and Fathers Day to all!