How Does it Feel...

Everyone imagines what it would feel like to be rich. Lotteries base their whole marketing schemes on this simple knowledge - it's easy to lure anyone in with the question "What would you do?" with X million dollars?

It's easy because it's pleasant. What would I do? I've imagined it many times... buy a house? Car? Squirrel away college funds for my kids? Treat my family to things they couldn't afford otherwise, travel, invest, and the list goes on and on. I'm sure that my mental extravagance far exceeds any winnings that I will never get, because I don't play the lottery anyhow.

How would it feel to be rich? Comfortable? Exciting? Captivating? Like a million dreams come true...

How would it feel to be impoverished? Not as many people like to imagine that. Many people pass judgement upon the poor on a daily basis, form opinions, laugh at their expense, or harbour resentment against them; without ever putting themselves in those shoes.

One step further: How would it feel to be a child born into poverty? A child whose opportunities are drastically diminished simply because they have the misfortune to be born into the wrong class. A child who is, at birth, less likely to receive a full education, more likely to become involved in drugs and crime, and more likely to perpetuate the very lifestyle they grew up in.

I'm not talking about Africa here. I'm talking about my own home country, Canada, where children live in situations that cause them more stress than the average adult feels. Who live in the dirtiest, completely unsafe areas because it's what's affordable. Who worry about bills and rent by kindergarten, long before they can do anything about them.

I wake up in the morning, I don't know what time it is but it's light out. The littler kids are running around the house already, I grumble and stumble down the stairs to see what they're up to. I'm tired, I'm always tired and I just want to go back to sleep. I find the kids in the kitchen, scavenging around, in diapers... mom isn't awake yet so I drag them into the living room and change them. I go back to the kitchen and try to find something for us to eat, all I can find are some condiments, a bag of rice and some cheese. Rummaging around a bit more, I find half a sleeve of crackers and make some crackers with cheese for breakfast. I sit down and stare into the TV. I don't want to do anything, I know there's school but I don't want to go. I'm tired, I know there's nothing to bring for lunch and I don't want to be the bullies punching bag again today. I think about telling my mother I'm sick. I'm sure I look sick. Sometime after 8, mom finally wakes up and comes to the living room, finding me there still in my pajamas, her shrill, exasperated voice asks me what I think I'm doing, why aren't I ready for school. I run into my room and try to find something to wear, I don't have a lot of clothes and none of them are clean right now. I throw on what I wore yesterday and leave for school without a lunch.

I get to school late, thankfully. I rush into my class and mindlessly do whatever work I'm supposed to. I'm smart enough, and I want my teacher to like me, so I do it. Last night mom was crying because the hydro was going to be cut off and she didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to do either. I felt sorry for her, I felt sorry for myself. I wanted to help and I couldn't. Today at school I'm thinking about this, wondering what will happen. I'm staring off into space while I think, until I'm broken out of my reverie by my teacher jokingly asking me what is so interesting on that particular wall. She didn't mean it to be mean, but all the other kids are staring at me now and I want to crawl into the floor.

Recess comes, as I leave the school building I scan the yard for my single friend, another girl who's as unfortunate as I am. This week one of the slightly more popular girls has taken an interest in her and she doesn't have time for me, which leaves me defenseless. I try to fade into the woodwork, and make it to some corner of the playground where I can hide. Halfway to my destination I'm spotted, by a group of kids who love to pick on me. I hear the taunts before I see them. "Hey, where are you going? You running? Trying to hide? You think you can hide from us? You're so stupid..." Sometimes they slap me, sometimes they hit me with sticks so flexible they resemble whips. Once they spat on me. I don't cry anymore, crying makes them laugh at me more. I curl up on the ground and try to make myself so small that they'll forget about me and go away. Eventually they do.

Lunchtime comes and I'm forced to lie to the teachers who ask where my lunch is, I tell them I forgot it. They scold me, and tell me I'm always forgetting it and I need to try harder. I just nod, embarrassed. They give me some crackers and peanut butter at the office. I don't really care, I'm not usually hungry anymore anyway.

The afternoon goes by without incident. I'm exhausted walking home. When I get to the house I find my mother napping, still not dressed. She wakes up when I come in and tells me that the power was cut off but she managed to borrow money from someone to get it hooked back up. I feel relieved, elated even, it's the best thing that's happened in a while. Until I ask her what's for dinner and she doesn't know...

So imagine that scenario, day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year. Unfortunately it isn't made up, it was my life during 3rd grade.

I've heard people talk about how everyone gets a chance. Education is free, they say, kids should take it. And I agree wholeheartedly, it's there for the taking. But this sort of ideal ignores the hell that children contend with growing up in poverty. It belittles the difficulties they face, because it isn't a matter of "just going". It's a struggle, each and every day. It's a priority list. Can I care about school today, or should I care that I haven't eaten since last night? Can I worry about math, or should I worry that mom said she doesn't have the rent money?

So I will tell you what poverty feels like. It feels like hunger. And not just the hunger that a good meal fixes, it's the hunger that eats away at you inside, that leaves you always needing more. It's the desperate hunger that makes you think 3 moves ahead, so that even when you're fed, you worry what will happen tomorrow. It's the crushing feeling of realizing that you'd rather not be given anything just once, because it hurts more when it's gone, and at least when you've done without so long you forget what it feels like to have something.

It feels like hopelessness. Like trying to climb a wall with your bare hands when it's covered in Vaseline. No matter how far you may get, you just end up sliding right back where you started. It feels like helplessness when all the odds are stacked against you and you know that everyone expects you to just TRY HARDER and you're too tired to try harder anymore.

It feels like defeat. Depression. Anguish. Despair. It makes you feel like a feral animal who just wants to survive and will snarl at anyone, friend or foe, because you've been kicked too much.

It feels this way for an adult. Imagine what it feels like for a child. I used to cry because I was so frustrated that it hurt, so frustrated that I couldn't get a job, I couldn't do anything. I felt useless, and scared, and stressed... hungry and tired. Always. I felt ashamed, I felt second class. I felt unlovable.

No child should feel that.

But if people took a minute to understand how it feels, maybe we'd be headed somewhere. Just CARE. The world has plenty of hate, it needs more caring.

I'm not writing this because I have any grand schemes on how to fix this, I don't. Part of it for me is therapeutic, part of it is to raise awareness. To this day I have a real passion for those marginalized in our society, the ones who fall through the cracks, who feel unlovable.

So if anyone is reading this, if it matters to you, do something. Try this:

Salvation Army Canada

And find your local chapter to donate, to volunteer, anything.

You might be glad you did.