When I was growing up, I had no idea my family didn't have much money. We lived in a nice house on a nice street, we had food and all the basics of life. Maybe I didn't have as many toys as my friends (especially the ones with divorced parents), but I had my Lego bricks and that was enough. Actually, now that I think about it, I probably knew we were poor, I just didn't care. There were two areas where our lack of money played out: our cars and my clothes. Our cars were always second or third-hand Volkswagen beetles, and my wardrobe was mostly hand-me-downs from older cousins along with some homemade sweaters and hats. My favorite winter hat was a red and blue striped knit stocking cap that my mom made. It was enormous... the tassle went down almost to my butt. When I left for school I'd grab a section of the previous night's newspaper, and as soon as I was out of sight of our house I'd take off my hat and stuff it with crumpled pieces of newspaper so that when I put it back on it stood straight up. Then I spent the rest of the day wondering why I had no friends.
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