On Being Poor

Athletic Monkey

I’m eight years old and they pass out a flyer at school for a local soccer team. I’ve always wanted to be on a team and soccer seems fun. On my way out of the classroom, I throw the flyer away. I know there’s no point in asking to join. We can’t afford it.

I’m nine years old. A boy in my class throws a rock and it hits me in the face, breaking my glasses. I cry, both because it hurts and because I know my parents will be angry. Glasses are expensive and I dread having to tell my mom that I need a new pair.

I’m 10 years old and all I want in the world is to have a friend and to not feel like the social outcast that I am. The cool girls have Guess jeans, Esprit bags, and wear Keds. I have a homemade…

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