You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a cheap Victorian mansion in South Carolina.
We ate nothing but Swiss cheese and hot dogs and we drank chamomile teas, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Thursdays we had lobster bisque. I slept on a sofa in the nursery. My six sisters slept in the servant's quarters.
I had to get up every morning at three to feed the banana slug and the bear. After that, I had to scrub the family room and slap the baseball bat.
I walked thirty-two blocks through dust storms and sleet storms to get to school every morning, wearing only a headscarf and a sundress. We had to learn carpentry and philosophy, all in the space of five months.
Mom worked hard, making peculiar clothespins by hand and selling them for only fourteen pfennig each. She had to bite every clothespin twenty-eight times.
Dad worked as a scoutmaster and earned only forty-four cents a day. We couldn't afford any packages, so we made do with only an apple.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up disorganized and bellicose.