Lifestyles of the Rich
Small children who are loved, are wealthy in many ways including materially, because they don’t know any better (which makes them wiser than most of us).
When our daughter was little, we were living in Salt Lake and we, unlike her, were most emphatically not rich. One day the two of us were riding a bus, and Catherine, as was her custom, zeroed in on the person most likely to have a long police record and gave him a radiant smile.
“HI!” What’s your name? She beamed at him.
This got her a silent stare
Undaunted, she chattered away happily at her new best friend, “My name’s Catherine and we have a red car!” giving the impression that we owned at least one new car in a multicar garage.
The criminal looked at me speculatively.
“Ha ha,” I said to Catherine while looking at the man, “Too bad the car is in the shop again, that’s why we’re riding the bus, remember?”
Catherine went on, “And we have LOTS of money! And a great big house!” (The house part at least, was true. But she forgot to mention it had been subdivided into too many small apartments.)
“Mommy got me ice-cream!” she shared joyously (thus taking care of the last of Mommy’s money).
It was around this time when my grandparents, Omi and Opa, came to visit. They were rich in the same way Catherine was rich. Having escaped from East Germany after the second world war, they never got around to collecting too many luxuries. They never talked about the war years, but Mom would occasionally tell “funny” stories that threw a light on just how awful things must have been. One of her favorites to tell was how after they first came to America, Omi went to the store and came home with some cheese. Everyone was excited. It was beautifully wrapped and even had a picture of a cow on it. But when Omi opened it up, Mom was confused, “Where are the maggots?” she asked. Then Mom would laugh and laugh, “I thought all cheese had to have maggots in it!”
Anyway, Omi and Opa wanted to see our dump, err, apartment. They looked at the shabby living room which doubled as an office, and didn’t seem bothered by the pounding music coming from the downstairs neighbors. They saw the old kitchen with its old vinyl tiles, plastic table and loud refrigerator, they looked into the dingy bathroom with the shower that set off the smoke alarm every morning, our tiny bedroom and the extra-large closet that served as Catherine’s room, I apologized for the toys scattered everywhere. Then they sat on our lumpy, fourth-hand sofa. Omi kept looking around in wonder, saying, “Da fehlt nichts, da fehlt nichts!” Meaning roughly that ‘here, nothing is lacking’. I remember rolling my mental eyes and thinking, “Oh yeah? Let me tell you, da fehlt a whole lot here.”
But of course, Omi was right. What she saw was all of us in good health, with food–even meat (cheap chicken thighs) in the fridge. She saw a home with heat, doors that locked, running water and a bathroom. On top of all of that, she saw toys, books and a tv. To be so young and to have so much. What more could anyone possibly want?
I don’t always remember how incredibly, insanely, fabulously wealthy I am, living in a house with multiple rooms, plenty of clothes and so much food that it’s actually a problem. Unlike many in the world, my hands are not calloused, and my back is not stooped with hard work. This Thanksgiving, I will have a feast, and no one will be picking out the maggots.
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When our daughter was little, we were living in Salt Lake and we, unlike her, were most emphatically not rich. One day the two of us were riding a bus, and Catherine, as was her custom, zeroed in on the person most likely to have a long police record and gave him a radiant smile.
“HI!” What’s your name? She beamed at him.
This got her a silent stare
Undaunted, she chattered away happily at her new best friend, “My name’s Catherine and we have a red car!” giving the impression that we owned at least one new car in a multicar garage.
The criminal looked at me speculatively.
“Ha ha,” I said to Catherine while looking at the man, “Too bad the car is in the shop again, that’s why we’re riding the bus, remember?”
Catherine went on, “And we have LOTS of money! And a great big house!” (The house part at least, was true. But she forgot to mention it had been subdivided into too many small apartments.)
“Mommy got me ice-cream!” she shared joyously (thus taking care of the last of Mommy’s money).
It was around this time when my grandparents, Omi and Opa, came to visit. They were rich in the same way Catherine was rich. Having escaped from East Germany after the second world war, they never got around to collecting too many luxuries. They never talked about the war years, but Mom would occasionally tell “funny” stories that threw a light on just how awful things must have been. One of her favorites to tell was how after they first came to America, Omi went to the store and came home with some cheese. Everyone was excited. It was beautifully wrapped and even had a picture of a cow on it. But when Omi opened it up, Mom was confused, “Where are the maggots?” she asked. Then Mom would laugh and laugh, “I thought all cheese had to have maggots in it!”
Anyway, Omi and Opa wanted to see our dump, err, apartment. They looked at the shabby living room which doubled as an office, and didn’t seem bothered by the pounding music coming from the downstairs neighbors. They saw the old kitchen with its old vinyl tiles, plastic table and loud refrigerator, they looked into the dingy bathroom with the shower that set off the smoke alarm every morning, our tiny bedroom and the extra-large closet that served as Catherine’s room, I apologized for the toys scattered everywhere. Then they sat on our lumpy, fourth-hand sofa. Omi kept looking around in wonder, saying, “Da fehlt nichts, da fehlt nichts!” Meaning roughly that ‘here, nothing is lacking’. I remember rolling my mental eyes and thinking, “Oh yeah? Let me tell you, da fehlt a whole lot here.”
But of course, Omi was right. What she saw was all of us in good health, with food–even meat (cheap chicken thighs) in the fridge. She saw a home with heat, doors that locked, running water and a bathroom. On top of all of that, she saw toys, books and a tv. To be so young and to have so much. What more could anyone possibly want?
I don’t always remember how incredibly, insanely, fabulously wealthy I am, living in a house with multiple rooms, plenty of clothes and so much food that it’s actually a problem. Unlike many in the world, my hands are not calloused, and my back is not stooped with hard work. This Thanksgiving, I will have a feast, and no one will be picking out the maggots.
Back to Holidays