My mom flung open the door of my room, obviously upset. It was dark, and I was already in bed, but I could see her silhouette standing in my doorway. Even in my teens, I was very perceptive, and I could hear that the panic in her voice was directed at me, as if I had done something terribly wrong. Her voice trembled, and she choked back tears as she told me, “The washing machine is broken.”
Earlier in the day, I had run a load of clothes through the washing machine, and the lint separator at the end of the hose got sucked into the motor, which caused it to overheat. It was my fault. The total damage: $50.
I don’t think it was the amount that made my mom tremble and quiver – in fact, I remember being very surprised at how upset she was about the amount. Even my minimum wage job at Dunkin Donuts could cover the expense of the washing machine repair.
No, I think it was the frustration of having yet another unexpected bill that put my family over budget for the month. We lived meagerly: we hardly ever went out to dinner, I wore cheap and out of style clothing, and we were on the “reduced lunch” program at my public high school (that’s a subsidized school lunch program for poor kids).
Things weren’t always so bad until my parents divorced – somehow the separation left both of my parents almost penniless, and each blamed the other for ruining their financial situation, while in the process attempting to win me over to their respective “cause.” From then on, it was slim pickens in my family.


