Priviledge

I’ve never felt privileged. I know that is a fairly bold statement from white male living and working in Silicon Valley, recently ranked the most expensive place to live. Tokyo was ranked the third most expensive to give some perspective. A two bedroom one bath tear down was sold this past month for $850,000. The new owner paid this exorbitant sum for the property. The house was destined for the landfill. I live among this nuttiness, I have for my whole life except for a brief stint residing back in the hinterlands of Kansas and Bushland (Texas).

Maybe I do not understand the meaning of the word privilege. I’ve always associated it with wealth and status. If I judge my life on these two criteria, I would probably fall in the lower middle class. Remember though, this is by California standards. I remember rough times when I was just a wee tot. My father was a truck driver, first doing household moves, then going into the air freight business. During the 70’s, times were rough in the trucking industry. Dad would be out of work for long stretches, when our sole income was from my Mom’s nursing income. My father was a proud old country sort. The man was supposed to bring home the bacon, except in California the expression was “bring home the tofu”. When he was not working, life around our house was a bit rough. My Mom was lucky; she spent the day at work. I was not so fortunate. When I arrived home from school, my Dad often took his frustrations out on me. Siblings would have been a welcome distraction, but that was not in the cards for my family. I was destined to be an only child. One who became fearful of coming home. I never knew if all my bed clothes would be on the front lawn because I failed to properly make my bed that morning or if my toys had been given away to Goodwill due to being left out.

I identified a pattern way back then. When my Dad did not work, he tended to smoke and drink more. Many of his out of work friends smoked and drank quite a bit. I remember visiting a wealthy family of a friend of mine. His Dad was always working. He smoked and drank quite a bit too. Then there were the Dads of friends of mine who I would now label middle class. They neither smoked nor drank, at least not in excess. My young mind could not establish a corollary between these three pieces of information. I thought my Dad drank because he was not working. But the wealthy always working Father drank even more than my Dad. I’m not sure of the exact time when I arrived at the answer, but I think it was somewhere around Junior High. Most of my more earth shattering revelations occurred in Junior High. There have been a few since then, but not nearly with the frequency. I had so many revelations in Junior High, I am surprised I did not discover the meaning of life. Oh well, Douglas Adams solved that mystery for me in high school. It was 42.

My father and the wealthy father drank because they were frustrated and unhappy. Events in their life were not in their control. Middle class afforded the families a comfortable lifestyle, their basic needs were met and they had enough left over to enjoy a trip or two to Mickeyland or Brooklyn. My Dad struggled with providing for the basic needs of our family, while the wealthy father struggled to stay on top, working longer and longer hours to obtain more and more stuff. Neither was happy. I realized back then that middle class was not a bad lot to aspire to in life. I’m not sure if I would have come to this insight without having lived in a less than privileged household.

If privilege is thought of as a ladder defined by wealth and status, then my family started out towards the bottom. The top of the ladder was no where in sight. We could only see a few rungs up. My Mom and Dad managed to keep us off the ground, provided for our basic needs including new bell bottoms and fake Polo shirts, and were able to save a little for my college needs. There was little fear of falling off the ladder, we never had far to fall. I think we realized we always had some sort of safety net through friends and family. I can imagine that there are some who fall off the ladder without any safety net. I wonder if these are the unfortunate souls I see living on the streets in San Francisco. Were they once like me and my family? Did they fall off the ladder without a net? This thought is frequently in the back of my mind when I make choices in life. I asked myself, what are the repercussions of this decision, how far could I fall, is there a net?

Starting out at the top of the ladder through family inheritance must be very difficult. One has a long way to fall and I believe the wealthy are ill equipped to catch a lower rung on the way down.