Key to Real Wealth Lies in Experiences
Going on vacation was almost impossible for me as a mother of small children.
Is it just me, or are you noticing an increase in wealth management commercials? Wait. It’s probably me. I didn’t notice them before because I don’t own anything worth mentioning and don’t have any recognizable assets to manage. Considering the last ad I saw announcing that they cater to clients ranging from the extremely wealthy to the very wealthy (aka the filthy rich), it’s no wonder I wasn’t paying attention. Now, if advertising were designed to reach people who are labeled impoverished, destitute, or destitute, I’d love to listen.
Money has always been an issue for me. Going on vacation was almost impossible for me as a mother of small children. The best we could do was visit family in Manitoba, but gas was expensive. To fund this trip, we spent evenings and weekends picking bottles from ditches to earn the money needed. It was not so bad. With a ball cap pulled low over my eyes and an old discarded Dad’s jacket, I shuffled through ditches in rubber boots; hidden my identity.
However, my kids weren’t that excited. They often suffered the deep embarrassment that only teenagers can feel. Who wants to be defined as a family sifting through society’s trash for discarded dime pop bottles?
One day, as we were sneaking through the overgrown grass of a ditch near her school, my eldest son, Chris, who was left behind, stared at an approaching car, drew to attention, and then threw himself prostrate in the weeds.
“Get down, you fools,” he yelled. “It’s the director’s car! HIDE!”
But it was too late. The sleek gray Buick slowed as it approached our position and crunched to a halt in the gravel. The man rolled down a window, leaned over his console, and spoke to me with concern. I was standing in a thistle field, holding a dirty crate of Pilsner beer.
“Sorry,” said the friendly man. “I’m wondering if your son Chris is okay. He’s lying on the grass about 50 feet away, clutching an empty bottle of vodka.”
“Hahaha, yes, he’s fine,” I rushed to reassure the man. A sudden image of me crouched in court for child endangerment crept through my mind. To make matters worse, I spotted 11-year-old Rebecca holding a crushed can of Labatt’s Blue.
“He’s just tired,” I assured the man again. “No need to worry.”
He smiled, clearly unconvinced. Reluctantly, he drove off and watched us closely in his rear-view mirror.
Another time, a truckload of older teenagers sped past me down the street. I could hear a yell, “Here, lady,” as they screeched to a halt, rolled down the window, and threw an empty one onto the curb.
says nothing bag lady as well as the sight of a woman eagerly scurrying across the street to pick up a ten-cent soda can and stuff it into her plastic bag.
Sigh.
Yes, I’m no stranger to money problems, but think of all the fabulous things I have:
Beloved family and friends.
The smell of sheets blown dry in a prairie breeze on my bed.
The joy of digging up the first spring crocuses from under the prairie wool near my house.
I’m rich after all. What about you?
Visit helentoews.com for Helen’s latest book, a sweet vacation romance and more