Money

When I was a child my mother constantly complained about money. A 10 cent coupon, the cost of a 10 cent phone call. I was always worried. I saved my allowance in my closet. Plastic bags filled with pennies, dimes, nickels. When my grandmother wanted to give me three dollars I said no Grandma, you need the money. 

One Saturday morning I rode my bicycle to town and bought color-forms and wax lips and silly putty and a few other things. I was punished severely for having spent my allowance. My bicycle was taken away from me for a month. I didn't understand the crime and I still don't.

I was told that my allowance and any Christmas and birthday gift money was for buying expensive gifts for her and my step-father. Ah-ha!

After I left home my mother bought me yard-sale broken things as gifts or things she actually wanted for herself, like oversized men's sweaters, gifts that she could call back from me.

No wonder why I am so fucked up about money.