If I was so worried about being poor when I was in college, then why the hell did I change my major from engineering to English? (Again in the category of “Things I would like to address with my 18 year old self.”)
After we had been out of college for a few years, one of my college friends mentioned casually that I sure had talked about money a lot when we were in school.
As I listened to her words, I flushed with shame.
Hadn’t everyone talked about money?
Hadn’t everyone worried about money?
Apparently not.
I realized that among my friends, I was one of the few paying my own way. Some had full financial aid – not even loans – and some had full coverage from their parents.
I was in that middle space where I had scholarships and loans, which were enough to cover my tuition and room and board but not enough for books and incidentals like evening meals on weekends, which were not provided, or goofing off.
That meant was that I needed to work during the summer and during the school year, which was fine. I didn’t mind working. My school job was fun – waiting tables with your friends (friends to this day, I might add) at the faculty club during lunch or weekend parties is not the worst way to spend time.
Working didn’t set me apart from my friends, but having to take out loans and worrying about paying them back did.
To this day, I wonder how my financial aid was calculated. My parents did not have one spare penny to give me.
Well, they gave me $400 one semester to buy books and to buy a Greyhound ticket to come home for Christmas, but usually, they didn’t have much to give. But I didn’t expect them to. They weren’t supposed to. I had never thought my parents would pay for my college.
One of the main reasons I applied to the school I did was because there was no application fee. I applied early decision and was accepted and that was it. I didn’t apply anywhere else.
They gave me scholarships and offered me guaranteed student loans (for a total of $13,000 in loans, which, considering what kids borrow today, was not a lot) to cover what the scholarships did not.
It wasn’t unreasonable for me to take out loans, but I still wonder how some people got full scholarship aid and I did not. My dad – with two other kids – would have made under $25,000 a year. Tuition and room and board were about $8,000 a year, I think. How did the school decide who had to take loans and who got full aid?
I still have questions.
Another friend asked why my mom hadn’t gotten a job to pay my tuition.
It was as if she thought my parents were some kind of failure, but the reality was that most of my childhood was spent abroad, where my mom couldn’t legally get a job. Even on base, the civilian jobs, for the most part, were reserved by treaty for the citizens of the host country.
If someone were to ask that today, I would say that my dad’s job required that he risk his life as part of his job description and STFU, but I know that my friend, who was and still is a dear friend, meant no malice. When you’re that age, you just don’t know.
(A woman at my high school best friend’s wedding breakfast asked me what my dad’s retirement rank was. This woman’s husband had been in the military and her son was an aide de camp to a general in Turkey. She knew *exactly* what she was asking me. If she had asked current me, I would ask in reply, “Why do you want to know?”
For those who don’t understand the significance of this question, it is the equivalent of asking not only one’s income but also one’s social position. It is considered extremely impolite. Extremely.)
When I was going into seventh grade, my mom was excited to find a bunch of colorful double-knit polyester remnants at the fabric store for only a quarter apiece. My brother and sister were still in Catholic school and wearing uniforms, but I was going to public school that year and needed new clothes. My mom was able to make me a bunch of pants from those remnants. Those pants are what I wore to school.
That is, my mom was able to figure out how to dress me with the incredibly small budget available to her.
I thought that was normal.
I still think she was amazing for clothing and feeding three children and herself and my dad with almost no money.
She must have been exhausted.
Mr T jokes that I act like I am going to be a bag lady any second.
I get annoyed because he spends money on things like cinnamon rolls from Costco. First of all, they probably don’t even taste good. Second, I can make cinnamon rolls from scratch for a lot less money.
I worry that we will run out of money and be on the street and freeze or starve to death.
I guess not everyone worries about that?
Texan in Exile 
Maybe. But a lot of us do. I’m a bit older than you, so my parents were of the late depression age, and they economized on everything they could and taught us to do the same. My brother didn’t learn it as well as I did, but fortunately made a LOT more money than I, so he might be fine.
I think credit has gotten too easy. Anyone/everyone can get multiple credit cards and too many do. Too many people just travel thru life thinking that it will all work out in the end. Well, in the end I don’t want to be eating cat food – if I can still afford it. I’m much rather live a little tighter now, and know that it will last. The women in my family mostly live into their 90’s – some nearly to 100, so I need to plan.
In case you don’t know it, the Required Minimum Distribution on most retirement “vehicles” is based on living to 90. Which means that if you live past 90 ALL of your retirement money – except SS – may be used up, i.e., GONE. So, if you come from long-lived people, be sure to save some of it to cover your “extra” years.
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I feel you. We (my mother, younger sister & I) were evicted more than once. I started working when I was 11. We lived in 23 places (that I can remember) in 4 states before I left high school.
To this day (I am over 60), I live like I could be evicted at any time. I am sure therapy would help. But we have kept our living expenses low & have had a 1000 sq ft house in a working class neighborhood for almost 24 years. I can’t tell you how much it means not to have to move every 6 months.
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