Wedding bells in 1935. For my parents. Well, not really any bells. Or white dress, or flowers, or wedding party, or church. Two people who loved each other, in front of a judge.
Continue reading “Every Last Dollar”
How well I recall the day I learned my family was poor. The news didn’t come from my parents. I often heard them having lively conversations about finances early in the morning while they were eating breakfast. While I was exercising my sloth-like tendency to sleep late. I heard them, but it was never serious enough to fully awaken me.
No, reality hit one day in the third floor library of the junior high building in my hometown. Probably my eighth grade year, during study hall. Continue reading “The beauty of enough”