Money was made by my step dad and it was for my step dad.
He often boasted:
All I have to do is put a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food on the table.
And he did the bare minimum, at that.
The roof sat on top of a rickety, drafty trailer that had sticks propping open its windows in the summer. For winter insulation, my annual chore was to install a moat of hay bails surrounding the trailer’s base to supplement the thin skirting.
More than one school year my grandparents were the ones who bought me school clothes.
He loved cooking, so there was always food, but certain foods were off limits to me. Like the fancy lunch meat and kettle chips.
I seldom had spending money. In ninth grade, on a school field trip to a big-city art museum, I was amazed at the expensive, delicious, luxurious lunches my classmates bought from the fancy cafeteria. They even bought dessert. I made due with what I could afford, which was french fries.
The field trip continued with shopping at the big-city’s famous department store. I watched a classmate spend $100 on a pair of jeans – in 1987. I was amazed.
There were a couple of periods where he pledged giving me a weekly allowance.
Hey dad, it’s Friday, could I have my allowance?
I don’t have it this week. I’ll catch you up next week.
At first the delay was actually exciting as I anticipated the growing windfall. But after two months of asking, reality set in and I gave up.
Once we went to a cookout at a co-worker of my step dad’s. They had a gorgeous house out in the country. The yard was expansive and beautiful. There was lots of shade and next to the house was a pool, the ultimate symbol of wealth to me.
Then something occurred to me.
Mom, if he has the same job as dad, why do they have so much nicer of a house than us?
I guess they’re better at saving money.
I always thought we were poor, but the truth was my step dad made good money. It’s just that it was for him. New guns, fishing equipment, pot, beer, fireworks, tools, gardening supplies, and projects for his car. And fancy lunch meat.
When he did give me money, it was begrudgingly.
Like when I was going out of state on spring break with my aunt and cousins to visit my biological father’s mother.
Here. I’m giving you $20 and I expect you to spend it wisely.
This was one of the first times I had abundance on a trip.
I bought great things. A green army rain poncho at a second hand store. I loved it’s ruggedness and that no one else I knew wore something like it.
I was in heaven in the skateboard shop. They had T-shirts I only saw ever in magazines, worn by my favorite skaters. The shirts themselves were like celebrities to me, and two of them went home with me.
Glowing from my trip, I showed my step dad my bounty.
Wow, you must have found good deals to buy all this on $20.
Well, Gramma and Grampa gave me $20 too.
What?!
Emotional 180.
…yeah.
Then why were you begging money from me?
Ignoring the mischaracterization of me begging, I said:
They gave it to me after you.
Then why didn’t you save it and return it to me when you got back?
What?
I’ll repeat myself. If you didn’t need the money why did you ask for it.
I did need the money. But like I said, they gave it to me after you.
Oh, you needed it? All you do is take, take, take. Who do you think you are?
What?
You got something wrong with your hearing, boy?
Do you see his technique? He distorts reality to change the meaning of my response in order to keep batting me around.
I wanted to say I thought he gave it to me because he wanted me to have it. To have fun on vacation. That I deserved it.
But the confidence and force in his accusation, in combination with the complete anti-logic of it made me conclude I must be missing something obvious and maybe I was indeed being selfish and inconsiderate.
Yes, he put a roof over my head. But only because the roof was for him.