Learning to be quiet

A couple of days ago Doug told me that I give out too much advice all
the time and that he finds it annoying. I've been thinking about that
for a while because I don't want to be an obnoxious person that people
dread to be around. So, why do I do it? I guess like most people I
think that I'm being helpful.

When I was growing up there was no one around to show me the way and to
avoid the common pitfalls of life, so for me giving advice is like
being a mentor. The biggest hurdle for me to climb was money
management. I grew up poor and every day was a basic struggle for
survival. I constantly worried about paying the utilities, or whether
there would be enough money for food. My relationship with money was
that I was constantly chasing it and never felt comfortable. My mother
had a different relationship with money and she did an amazing job
raising three kids with what she had and thank goodness for welfare or
we would not have made it after my father left us.

Welfare wasn't so bad, at least we had basic medical coverage and we
could go to the dentist, but the food stamps were a source of shame for
me. Every time we went to the grocery store check out lane and my mom
pulled out her food stamps, the lady at the register would let out a
huge sigh and act disgusted, as if the food stamps came out of her
pocket. She openly discriminated against us because we were poor. She
would actually make comments about the food items that my mother was
purchasing. Asking us if we really needed, Frosted Flakes as opposed
to the cheaper and less tasty Puffed Wheat. My mother actually
internalized those comments and we only got puffed wheat cereal after
that.

This woman was so indignant because collecting food stamps also meant a
little bit more work for her because she had to make annotations in a
special notebook and then give us plastic coins that represented real
change. In those days welfare recipients didn't get any real money
because people automatically assumed that any real money a welfare
recipient got would go to beer, cigarettes and who knows what else.
Welfare people had to be watched closely because there was something
wrong with them. It was terrible. I would watch my mother who was so
meek and timid because she didn't want to cause any trouble for herself
and her children. She was also discriminated against because she spoke
with an accent and people didn't even try to understand her, I was her
interpreter. At eight years old I understood the cruel stares and
remarks that people directed at us and at some point I was determined
not to let it happen to me again.

One day my mother asked me to run to the grocery store to get some
tortillas and she gave me two $1 food stamps. I took the money, but
did want to use it. Instead I took a couple of dollars that I had made
from selling lemonade and ran off to the store.

When I walked into the store I felt the doors opened just for me
because I had real money! Nobody was going to make rude remarks to me
today. I walked past all the candy knowing that it could be mine if I
used the food stamps for the tortillas, but that would not be. Today I
would buy some food with my money.
After placing the tortillas on the counter I put my two dollars next to
it and the cashier made the transaction and gave me back my change
without any comments. Yes! They didn't even notice that I was the
welfare kid. It was such a great feeling that I ran all the way home
with the tortillas under my arm.

Coming through the back gate I had to figure out what to do with the
food stamps because my mother had told me not to be ashamed of using
them, but I was. So I stopped in the garden and put them under a big
rock for safekeeping. Later, I would put them back into my mother's
purse without her being the wiser. My mother was happy to see my
speedy return and I helped her to finish dinner for my sister and baby
brother.

When we ate dinner I felt so proud to have provided the tortillas that
we were eating. For the first time in my life, I understood the
relationship between money and self-worth and knew that someday I would
not be poor anymore.

My mother never knew what I did that day and I've never told her. I
don't think that I can because I would only cry and make her feel bad,
but I've learned so much from being poor that I really do want to help
people avoid some of the heartache I've gone through.

Maybe Doug is right and I shouldn't give out so much advice? Maybe
people do learn more from their experiences by making their own
mistakes, but I also know that families acquire wealth by passing on
financial lessons learned to their children with the hope that they
will build upon the foundation laid by the previous generation.

Maybe my lesson now in life is learning to be quiet and only give
advice when asked? I'm not sure about this because I'm a talker, but
I'm willing to give it a try. Maybe I should be more like someone who
does not speak often, but whose words are valuable? Maybe my gift is
in quietly writing about my lessons learned and letting the reader
decide for themselves? Maybe the answer is yet to be revealed to me?