Over the past few weeks, there has been lots of fervor about
food stamps with the whole $29 challenge thing.
There was drama. People got all
crazy.
The problem we, as Americans, have with food stamps is that
we simply refuse to admit who the working poor in this country really are. We don’t want to believe that The Greatest
Country In The World has a problem. That
its system has failed. That the
officials we put into office to help us are doing the opposite and serving
their own agendas. We aren't to blame. It’s the
“poor people”. But … we are the poor people.
If most of the people that oppose government assistance
actually went to a Dept. of Health office, the people they see would most
likely surprise them. They aren't all a bunch of gangsters in gold chains and
Escalades. They aren't all poor white
trash meth heads with half a dozen dirty kids clinging to them.
They are normal people just like you. You can’t look at someone and tell if they
are on assistance. We have this sense
that, if you are getting food stamps, then you shouldn't have nice clothes or a
nice car. You should LOOK poor. Needy.
Unkempt. Anyone that doesn't is obviously taking advantage of the
system. And that just isn't true.
I see plenty of people talk about how they work two jobs and
can barely make ends meet, yet they make too much to qualify for assistance. How they should just sit at home and do
nothing and draw a check. And in some ways they are correct. The system is flawed. The middle class has become the working poor,
and while we aren't making enough to get ahead, we are making too much to get help. Barely making rent and keeping the
lights on doesn't constitute a need anymore.
And that is where things are broken.
Yet at the same time, those that do get assistance are not
just sitting at home, either smoking
crack or pigging out on junk food or both, waiting for that money to come
rolling in. The people that are vocal
about only getting $29 a week to feed their family also seem to think that the
gangsters and meth lab moguls are sitting on the couch collecting hundreds of
dollars a week from the government in assistance. And that’s just not how it works. We don’t want to admit that we, the mighty
middle class, have a poverty problem.
Yes, there are those that abuse the system. Those that cheat. But for the most part, the ones that do get
help are still barely getting by. How do
I know that? Because I have been in that
Health Department office. I have seen
the families there needing help. And,
for a while, I was one of them.
For a long time, I felt embarrassed when I thought about
that. Afraid to admit it. Afraid of what people would think. But fuck that. I have worked for years. I have paid taxes for years. Then we hit a rough patch and we needed
help. We took what we could get, for as
long as we needed it. And then, as soon
as we were able, we said thank you for the help and we don’t need it anymore.
I had a great job. I
was in my early thirties. I had a
college degree. I was making almost
$90,000 a year. I was the primary
breadwinner in the home. And then,
suddenly, I was unemployed. Market
changes. Company downsizing. Economy.
The woman in her early thirties with no kids, or the lady in her late
fifties with an older husband, five kids and three grandkids, all of them
depending on her … the choice was easy.
She stayed and my job was eliminated.
I understood that.
But I had never failed before. To me, this was failure. Even though it wasn't my fault. I sent out resumes daily. For weeks.
Nothing. Not a single response. I was in insurance. I branched out of my field into other
possible openings: claims, sales, receptionist.
NOTHING. The economy was tanking
and no one was hiring. I collected
unemployment for six months. I got about
$200 a week. It wasn't nearly enough.
Luckily, I had a support system. My
family stepped up and my mom helped us. A
LOT. She made sure we didn't lose our
house. That our bills were paid. She kept us afloat.
I never got a single response on my resume. I continued to send them out. My college roommate offered me a nanny
gig. I jumped at it. Unemployment was over and I needed a job. Any
job. So, now I was making $400 a
week. And that was still nowhere near
enough. We went from bringing in over
$100,000 a year between us to making about $25,000 a year from my husband’s
job. My mom was keeping us afloat, but
that couldn't last forever. And then, I
got pregnant with the kid.
My husband works in construction, so often, it is by the
job. Not all companies offer
insurance. You work for a year or two,
then that job is done. And you have to
wait. If you are lucky, you go immediately
to a new site. But, if the company doesn't have another contract, you have to go to another company. His job had ended right after the baby was
born. His insurance went into
COBRA. That got us through the first
year, but then we needed coverage. We needed help.
So we applied for food stamps and insurance. We qualified.
We own our home, although we do have a mortgage. We own our vehicles. We have nice furniture. TVs with cable. IPhones. Nice clothes. All that was because I had a good paying
job. And then I didn't. But we still had those things. We still LOOKED the same, even though we weren't anywhere near the same financially. Mom paid the bills, but we still
had stuff we needed. Baby stuff. We lived on a credit card. The balance inching forward.
But we had the essentials.
And every time I went to the grocery store, I was thankful. Thankful that I got that couple hundred
dollars a month to cover food. But I was
embarrassed to pull out that card and swipe it.
I felt like everyone was looking at me, judging me, KNOWING. It was awful.
I didn't want to be lumped into the group of people that has nice things
so must be cheating the system.
My mother sold the house I grew up in and gave us that money
to help us survive. I was able to stay
home with the baby. My husband went to
school so he could try to find a better paying job. Then the kid was three and it was into
preschool and back to work for me. We
started taking over the bills again. Got
on our feet. And said goodbye to food stamps
and free healthcare.
Today, both of us together still make less than I used to
make alone. We struggle each week,
living paycheck to paycheck. There are student
loans and a big credit card balance. Bills are paid, barely. But there’s
nothing left over. Nothing to save. No trips to the beach. No kitchen remodels. I've needed new tennis
shoes for a year. We have what we need
to survive. But we are still definitely
a part of the working poor.
So we work, and we pay taxes, and we manage. It’s not the life I imagined, or dreamed
of. But it’s good. We have so much more than so many
others. And I am not ashamed of our time
on assistance any more. We needed it. We qualified.
We used it for the time we needed it, and then we let it go. That’s what it is supposed to be there
for. For help when you need it.
Am I glad that we both have jobs now and can pay the bill
and don’t desperately need the help to put food on the table? Absolutely.
I am grateful for the help we were able to get, when we needed it most.
Do I sometimes wish that we still qualified so that we would
have a little bit extra in the bank for new tennis shoes, or emergency car
repairs? Definitely. Because it would help. So, so much.
But we don’t qualify.
We aren't on the poverty line anymore.
Except, we really are.
And once, for a couple of years, we were on government
assistance. We weren't drug dealers. We didn't live on the bad side of town. We didn't have big SUVs and Prada purses and flashy jewelry. We were normal. The same as we are now.
Yet we still tiptoe around the poverty line. It's the line that the middle class doesn't want to admit exists. Middle class means success. Good job, nice house, car. You've achieved something. Made something of yourself. Middle class doesn't mean poor. At least, not in our minds. And definitely not in the facade we show others.
We are firmly middle class. And we are still the working poor.
