Autumn 2004

Having just earned my very first real pay check, I was ecstatic. Eagerly, I deposited it into my bank account. I had my own money. My very own. Of course 10% went to church, another portion was set aside for my piano lessons, yet another portion was designated for my darling dog and the remainder was mine. All mine. This feeling of financial independence was extremely liberating. I say it was only a feeling as my parents were neither charging me for rent nor for board.

Life was great!

A significant moment in my life was when I walked into Wal-Mart, armed with a shiny, plastic debit card, and bought my first pair of brand new shoes. Wow. They were beautiful. If you were to ask me now I would say they were hideous. These shoes were special because they were the first item I bought from my very own resources earned from my very own hard work at the warehouse up the road.

I grew up as a second hand child. No, I wasn’t purchased at the second hand store, but everything on my back was. I wasn’t deprived, no. I had violin and piano lessons, my own horse, and my own dog. I just couldn’t get over the fact that my clothes were all second hand. The smell of the second hand store lingers in the clothes, even after going through the wash several times. Walking into the second hand shops was like entering into a little bit of paradise for me. It sounds crazy but I loved it. So many clothes! My shopping trolly would be heavy ladden with the mounds of tops, skirts, dresses, pants, and shoes to try on. Still, I was unhappy because new was a novelty I seldom experienced.

To this day I struggle with clothes shopping. I both enter and leave the mall empty handed. The price tags loom higher than my willingness to tarnish my shiny cards and hard earned cash.

I am and forever will be a second hand child.

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