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But my sister and I did it, while grumbling, sniping at each other, and chucking the newspapers haphazardly onto people’s porches and front walks.
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#Mo money mo problems hd crack
Our job started the very first week of summer, prime sleeping-in time, and it was brutal to force ourselves up at the ass crack of dawn every morning so that all the geriatrics could get their morning dose of daily happenings in the bustling metropolis of Steubenville, Ohio. By the time Sue left for her family vacation, we had our routine on lock: we were official Paper Girls. On Saturday, we would need to not only deliver the papers but collect the weekly fees from each customer, which we’d put in a heavy, orange zippered pouch to be picked up by someone from the newspaper on Sunday. It was perfect, we agreed, so for the next two weeks, we shadowed Sue on her route so we’d be sure not to miss a single house. It’s perfect because you guys already know the route!” “I was going to have to ask The Herald-Starr to find a substitute deliverer for me, but they’d love it if I lined up my own. “If you really want to know what it’s all about, you can do my route for me when I go on vacation for a week,” Sue told us excitedly. My sister and I weighed the pros and cons, and decided to knock on her door to ask a few more questions about the job. It was really cool that she got paid, although the paper route itself seemed like a major pain in the ass because she had to get up really early in the morning every single day of the week. Sue was our friend, though two years older, and we’d walked her paper route alongside her many times. Mom got an earful of whining, begging, pleading, “it’s not faaaairing,” door-slamming, shrieking, and other histrionics typical of prepubescent girls who compare themselves to everyone else.Īfter one such passionate tear-storm, Mom suggested that if we wanted a little “mad money” (a term which made no sense because who would be MAD about having money?), we should get a paper route like our neighbor, Sue. However matter-of-fact I may sound about it now, back then, my sister and I weren’t stoic about our “have-not” status, believe me. My mom would order a drink sometimes, just so that we were paying for something, and then we’d sit there and get our fill until they gave us the boot.
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The best my mom could do for a treat would be to take us to the Mexican restaurant that had the free chips and salsa. Otherwise, when our friends asked my sister and I to come to the movies, or to the county carnival, or to the arcade at the mall, or anything else requiring a few dollars that we didn’t have, we had to make up an excuse.Īs for family fun-time, forget about ordering pizza like other families did, or going to McDonalds, or picking up something even as small as a soda from the gas station. I would go over to play and wait the obligatory 30 minutes or so before asking, “Do you have any snacks?” Knowing full-well that their pantries were bursting with cheesy, salty, crunchy goodness, I’d do the Snoopy dance in their kitchen when they gave me the 9 million options to choose from. I specifically remember wanting to go most of all to the houses where the junk food and snacks were overflowing. When friends asked to come over, we generally asked if we could go to their house instead. At ten and nine years old, my older sister and I were having a hard time concealing the fact that there were no extras in our household. The only income my mom had at that time was the child support that she received from my dad, and that always went quickly. In case you haven’t figured this out by now, we had no money. We’d had roommates for a while, another family named the Bratmans, who at least had helped with the bills, but I’d managed to run them off with my heathen ways. It was late spring, so luckily very little heat was needed, and on chilly nights, we closed the bedroom doors and lit a kerosene heater. We had running water and electricity, but we had to keep utility usage to a minimum because the place was huge. The Catholic diocese owned the boarding school, which was once run by nuns, and they allowed us to live there free of charge. When I was nine years old, I was living with my mom, Sister Helen (a nun who lived with us for about five years), my older sister, and my baby sister in a run-down, abandoned boarding school. The purpose of the question was so that I could see how money, or the lack thereof, affected my childhood and shaped the way I think about money today.
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#Mo money mo problems hd how to
I had a therapist recently ask me: When you were growing up, what did money mean to you? This was in relation to a conversation about my husband and I disagreeing on how to manage our finances.