bloody marty mix
92/365: 1973-1974
Tuesday, 26 August 2008.
(Explore #363)
40 Years in 40 Days [ view the entire set ]
An examination and remembrance of a life at 40.
For the 40 days leading up to my 40th birthday, I intend to use my 365 Days project to document and remember my life and lay bare what defines me. 40 years, 40 qualities, 40 days.
Year 6: 1973-1974
My mom, my future step-father (hereinafter referred to as my dad), and I moved into a small, pink house in Encino. We had a backyard with crabapple trees and wild roses, and a basset hound/springer spaniel mix named Woody. Down the street, there was a scary old man with an apricot tree in his front yard. The kids would sneak onto his property to retrieve apricots, and he would come out and yell at us and throw pebbles.
This is where I learned to ride a bike. I had a little blue bike, with a white banana seat. When the training wheels came off, my dad would run down the street, pushing the bike from behind, and when he let go, he would keep running for awhile so I wouldn't realize I was really driving the thing and panic.
I attended Rhoda Street Elementary School, and though I don't think I walked to school very often, I remember that walk very well. Encino Avenue was dappled with shade and sunlight and lined with fragrant flowers (honeysuckle, mostly). I would stop frequently and smell them, often picking one to carry with me to school.
In the summer, I was placed upon a PSA airplane (the ones that had the smiley faces painted onto them), and flown up to San Jose to visit my maternal grandmother, and my biological father and his family. Some of the warmest, sepia-colored memories from my childhood took place there in the barrios of San Jose. I spent the afternoons running down the alley, racing the neighborhood kids, and discovered that I was a very fast runner. I also became familiar with the concept of inertia when I realized, much to my disappointment, that I was very bad at turning around to run back.
Who am I?
I am bad with money.
We never had much of it. There were times when we were just dirt poor, and other times when we were solidly working class, inching toward middle class. By the time I left for college, we were still significantly short of the national median, and we would have been flat out of luck had I not been laden with generous grants and loans.
When I finally got out on my own and had my first real job, I spent great gobs of money. I was like a starving man at a buffet. In my world, money received was money sent back out the door almost immediately. I'd never lived in a world where the accumulation of money was even a possibility, so I had no concept of saving. I just wanted and wanted. I'd always wanted. It took years of out-of-control spending, followed by deep wells of debt, for me to finally latch onto the idea of financial responsibility. Today, I am much better about it than I used to be, but I still do not fully trust myself to make rational, non-impulsive decisions about money. It doesn't matter how little I need. I still want.
[ view previous | view next ]
92/365: 1973-1974
Tuesday, 26 August 2008.
(Explore #363)
40 Years in 40 Days [ view the entire set ]
An examination and remembrance of a life at 40.
For the 40 days leading up to my 40th birthday, I intend to use my 365 Days project to document and remember my life and lay bare what defines me. 40 years, 40 qualities, 40 days.
Year 6: 1973-1974
My mom, my future step-father (hereinafter referred to as my dad), and I moved into a small, pink house in Encino. We had a backyard with crabapple trees and wild roses, and a basset hound/springer spaniel mix named Woody. Down the street, there was a scary old man with an apricot tree in his front yard. The kids would sneak onto his property to retrieve apricots, and he would come out and yell at us and throw pebbles.
This is where I learned to ride a bike. I had a little blue bike, with a white banana seat. When the training wheels came off, my dad would run down the street, pushing the bike from behind, and when he let go, he would keep running for awhile so I wouldn't realize I was really driving the thing and panic.
I attended Rhoda Street Elementary School, and though I don't think I walked to school very often, I remember that walk very well. Encino Avenue was dappled with shade and sunlight and lined with fragrant flowers (honeysuckle, mostly). I would stop frequently and smell them, often picking one to carry with me to school.
In the summer, I was placed upon a PSA airplane (the ones that had the smiley faces painted onto them), and flown up to San Jose to visit my maternal grandmother, and my biological father and his family. Some of the warmest, sepia-colored memories from my childhood took place there in the barrios of San Jose. I spent the afternoons running down the alley, racing the neighborhood kids, and discovered that I was a very fast runner. I also became familiar with the concept of inertia when I realized, much to my disappointment, that I was very bad at turning around to run back.
Who am I?
I am bad with money.
We never had much of it. There were times when we were just dirt poor, and other times when we were solidly working class, inching toward middle class. By the time I left for college, we were still significantly short of the national median, and we would have been flat out of luck had I not been laden with generous grants and loans.
When I finally got out on my own and had my first real job, I spent great gobs of money. I was like a starving man at a buffet. In my world, money received was money sent back out the door almost immediately. I'd never lived in a world where the accumulation of money was even a possibility, so I had no concept of saving. I just wanted and wanted. I'd always wanted. It took years of out-of-control spending, followed by deep wells of debt, for me to finally latch onto the idea of financial responsibility. Today, I am much better about it than I used to be, but I still do not fully trust myself to make rational, non-impulsive decisions about money. It doesn't matter how little I need. I still want.
[ view previous | view next ]