I’ve thought about this many times before but still never quite know how to deal with it.

 

I spent the majority of my life in the sweltering hot south of the United States, soaking up rays or just soaking in my own sweat. It’s been a long time though since I had a tan all year round. The thing that is most striking though is the peculiar mixture in my upbringing as far as social class is concerned.

 

The farthest back I can remember takes me to Alexander St. New Orleans, LA where my mother and I lived while she went to the University of New Orleans. We lived in a house which would cost millions to own in Vancouver today, but there it was probably a lower-middle class neighborhood. Not a bad place though it had been built in the early 1900s. It had those wonderful old wall gas heaters where you basically just turned it on to experienced a wall of blue flame about two feet from the toilet. Spectacular! Everything creaked, everything made noises. It’s a good thing that I wasn’t a horribly mischievous boy (at the time), because I was certain to discover that sneaking around was not a possibility in my home. I never clarified with my mother over how we actually did afford renting that house. I always assumed it was actually just really cheap, but the more I think about it, she did have a particularly rich boyfriend at the time named Jimmy Pillazo. Who knows... It’s even more interesting to ponder that that home has probably been completely destroyed since Katrina hit New Orleans. We were fairly close to the water front just off of Canal Street.

 

Later, we moved back to Enterprise, AL briefly for a couple years until my mother got accepted to the nursing program at the University of South Alabama. I attended the 3rd and part of the 4th grade there, so I would’ve been 8 years old when we got back to Bama. Living with my grandparents to me seemed quite normal and damn fun! Big beautiful house out in the woods... tons of things to do and get in trouble with. I loved roaming around and getting to shoot at squirrels with a pellet gun. My Uncle Scott and my grandad (not sure if Uncle Melvin helped) built a sweet treehouse for me, complete with rope swing and high-wire bridge crossings. It was awesome. Honestly, it makes me want to raise my kids (God willing I ever have any) in the country, because that was just the best. Our home was extremely nice, though I never really comprehended the difference between it and others. Three bedroom, two bath and one half bath, garage, antic, massive living room, kitchen, den, wooden back porch, and huge yard. Truly, it was an upper-middle class home and my grandparents still live there today.

 

Now, all in all this paints the picture of me growing up in privileged surroundings. At the time, we never worried about money or at least I never was aware of it. Everything was provided for, it was a very secure place to be. That ended...

 

My mother then left Enterprise, AL to go to school in Mobile, AL. I don’t think I’ll ever really fully understand the family dynamics that went into this. Me, a precocious 9 year old, was asked by my mom whether I wanted to stay with my grandparents while she went to college or if I wanted to come with her. I can remember that even then thinking it was a peculiar thing to ask me. I didn’t really have to think long to say, “I want to go with you, mom.” Where else would I go? I loved my grandparents, but I had always been with my mom. Like I said, I don’t know the family politics that may have gone into this. I often wonder if there was tension between my mom and grandparents over her decision to leave and if they really didn’t want her to take me off to Mobile, hence bestowing a decision upon me, who had little to no knowledge of what was best for myself. Looking back now, that singular decision was probably one of the biggest factors in who I am today and the nature of my relationship with my mother.

 

We left the posh surroundings of my grandparents’ home in Enterprise and landed in Hillsdale Heights; Mobile, AL. Let me describe to you the wonders of Hillsdale Heights. Until the 1960s, Mobile was home to Brookley Air Force Base and Hillsdale Heights was the barracks/housing for the military. Now, you may think that the military built nice homes for their troops, but I beg to differ. These were very basic homes and they were built prior to WWII. A better description would be, roach hotels with central heating and no A/C. Good thinking in the south, nothing more necessary than central heating. And these slums, were owned by the university at least in part. They rented it out to low income families or students that wanted to live cheaply. I don’t think I ever fully grasped how much of a hit on my mother it was to move into this place. She was a survivor, but deep down, my mother has always had an insatiable desire to be successful. I’ve used to think she had delusions of grandeur. This home, however, was not a sign of that, let me tell you.

 

I literally remember, during the 6-7 years that we lived at 428 Waringwood Dr., that sometimes the roaches were so bad that you would literally be sitting at the table eating your food and they would pull up a seat next to you. Ever see “Joe’s Apartment”? I always thought I should name the little guys cause they seemed to have personality. Tenacious little bastards! They were typically not the big black flying cockroaches, though we did get those. Usually, we had swarms of these little brown roaches, which we very inappropriately called “German” cockroaches, but hey... Google it, that’s what they are called. Part of the reason we had so many problems with them was because we literally had no money and couldn’t afford an exterminator, but also cause these little suckers just didn’t die. I remember when we did get an exterminator, many times all that would happen is we would have armies of mutated and albino German cockroaches around our house combined with the piles of dead ones as a result of the poison. You know how you turn on the lights and the roaches are supposed to scatter into the various places they hide in the walls and whatnot. Not these guys. About half of them would scatter, the other half would stop... look at you... and then continue to eat or whatever they were doing. I wore shoes most of the time, because you typically ended up stepping on roaches whether you meant to or not as you walked around my house. Did I mention we had central heating!? That was really helpful in those 100 degree summers with 5000% humidity. I’m sure glad they put that massive gas heater in the house. Dumbasses.

 

Now, let’s make a long story short. Here I am now. Over 10 years separated from living in such conditions and now I’m sitting here in Vancouver, BC. Admittedly, living like a complete and total king. I have plenty of cash for a single guy. I eat out a lot. I have toys galore and I am studying at one of North America’s top theological institutions. I barely worry much about money, granted I do work for it in the summers, but I am still living very comfortably. I am a member of the cultural elite. I’m not Bill Gates or anything, but I’m still very much a part of a privileged sect. This hasn’t come easy. It is the result of my grandparents financial frugality and ingenuity, plus my willingness to go work 75 hours a week in the summers to support the aforementioned lifestyle. Not to mention that whatever blessing I have lays squarely in God’s hands and is His to give or take away, which removes my ability to claim responsibility for where I am. It’s much more the result of my family than me anyway.

 

What a strange turning of events though... I as a person have experienced what so many in my niche of society have not: poverty. Not just on a trip to a third world country, but I lived it for many years of my life. Yet, here I am... It is one example of how I am thankful for suffering in my life, because I believe that such experience has shaped the way that I carry myself. I know that there is very little that separates myself from somebody less fortunate or more fortunate. I’ve shaken hands and been friends with people from all levels of society. When I was a young boy, I played video games with children of multimillionaires and stole cigarettes and hid in the bushes with children on welfare like myself. I have learned to never fear people based on social status and that peoples’ power and prestige is really just a nicer wrapping on the same human shell, which needs one thing and one thing only: Christ’s love and acceptance.

 

I suppose I just find myself wondering on the other hand how I should feel in regards to where I am. I suppose looking through God’s eyes, I will be wherever He puts me and I must learn to accept that. Maybe 10 years from now, I will have nothing again? And I wonder if I’m doing things to train my heart to be prepared for that. In many ways, I think not. I like all my toys and things. There would be a distinct sense of loss if they were taken from me, but I know deep in my heart that they are meaningless and only temporary pleasures. I believe God enjoys me having them and enjoying this life, but it is ultimately not why I am here. Certainly, I am planning to be responsible. I want to be a good provider for my family someday, if I should have one. Yet, things happen. I am no stranger to tragedy in life and know how quickly the tide can shift and the controls certainly are not fully within my grasp.

 

My prayer is that while I am here, in the highly privileged land of Vancouver, BC, where so many are convinced they hold their fate in their own hands and of their own strength, wit, and ingenuity have come to this place, that I will be able to fight the snare and illusion of human autonomous strength and place my security solely on Christ. Whether I stand or fall lies in His hands, not mine.