My father-in-law recently spoke of old photographs taken of him when he was a boy. It somehow seemed odd to me that such an item existed because as far as I know there are no photos anywhere of either my mother or my father when they were children. Like my father-in-law they were youngsters during the Great Depression. My father’s family moved from place to place in search of work and food and housing during that time. My mother’s family members were lucky to live in a home built and paid for room by room as my grandfather strove to build a life in America. My father-in-law was the son of a doctor who lived almost without notice of the depravations that so many endured. The contrasts between the stories of that historic moment coming from each of the three are striking and revealing of the differing ways that people endure difficult times. 

I suppose that life was hardest for my father and his family because my grandfather was a construction worker who traveled wherever he might find a construction project needing his skills. His parents did not own a home or have a full-time income that was a sure thing, so they had to resort to creative ways of earning enough to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. Sometimes that meant travelling to Mexico to purchase low cost vegetables and then selling them for a small profit to pay for food and shelter.

My mother often spoke with pride of how well her father had prepared for unexpected challenges. He owned the land and the house where they lived and even had separate property where he kept a cow and grew vegetables. With a job at a meat packing plant he was able to purchase scraps of meat at a discount, so the family never really worried about the basics of food and shelter even though there was no extra money for frills of any kind including new shoes and clothing. My mother wore dresses that had once clothed her three older sisters and shoes that had run down heels and holes in the soles. Her mother put cardboard inside to cover the openings. 

Mama remembers people coming to the back door of their home begging for any kind of food or drink. Since there were ten members of the family there was little to offer but my grandmother always found something to share if only a hot cup of coffee with a slice of bread. Christmas found the family luxuriating on gifts of an apple and an orange while birthdays meant receiving a nickel to save for a bag of broken cookies at the bakery just down the street. 

Since I had grown up hearing the stories of want and sacrifice from my parents it was startling to learn that some people fared much better during the time of worldwide depression. My father-in-law spoke with joy about the wonderful gifts that his parents and family members showered on him. He even had a little peddle driven car that he rode around in the sidewalks near his home. He vividly remembers Christmases when he received a BB gun and lots of wonderful toys that he wishes he still owned. When he spoke of the photos of him as a child he smiled at the thought of looking so sharp in new clothes purchased for the occasion. He was seemingly as unaware of how hard the depression had been on other people other than in the stories that he had seen in movies or read about in books. LIstening to him made me realize that there were differing gradations of want during Great Depression and some were even more dire than my father’s situation. 

I suppose that it is normal for each of us to react to the state of the world based on our individual experiences. I evolved from a very spoiled early childhood with my father to a more circumspect and frugal life with my single mother after his death. When I married my early years as a wife and mother were sometimes economically tough but I had learned from my mother how to use whatever income I had with inventiveness. Eventually both my husband and I were working and we entered the world of middle class luxury that has always felt more than adequate to me. 

I have been able to provide my children and grandchildren with experiences more in keeping with my father-in-law’s description of his childhood and adolescence. Nonetheless I carry a silent anxiety and need to be always prepared for sudden changes in my economic situation. I feel enormous empathy for those who struggle to survive even in the midst of the plenty of our society. I remember grocery shopping with my mother and watching her carefully considering the cost of every purchase down the the penny. I recall understanding that the food in the pantry and refrigerator had an intended purpose for feeding me and my brothers and so I never felt free to take whatever I wanted without first consulting with my mother. She was the distributor of nourishment and only she could determine if we had enough for snacks beyond the three meals of the day. 

Those days are gone for me. I am able to purchase both food and extras for myself and and husband and father-in-law. We eat well and perhaps a bit too much. We go out to restaurants more often than I did in the totality of my time with a single mother. We grinch about the rising cost of foods that we enjoy and then put them grudgingly into our grocery cart anyway. We buy things that I never saw in my youth after my father died like desserts and soda and salty snacks, Sometimes I actually feel guilty purchasing such items knowing that people are going hungry all over the world. 

I suppose that at any given moment in history there have been ranges of those who have enjoyed plenty and those who have suffered from want of basic needs. I try to remember my family stories and understand the serendipity of my good fortune with gratitude and a willingness to share a portion of what I have.

It would be easy to believe that I fully deserve my riches because of my hard work. While I have indeed labored each day, I have also enjoyed good health, a sharp mind, opportunities to grow and prosper. It would be a mistake to believe that everyone has equal access to the good life. Being born in the wrong place at the wrong time can make all the difference. Hopefully such souls will encounter a kindly woman of little means like my grandmother who will smile and give them a warm drink and a bit of food without judging them during their time of need. Blessed are those who offer hope for one day it may be you or I at someone’s back door begging for a bit of food. If we are lucky someone will be there to help us.