You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a speckled barracks in Rochester.
We ate nothing but lasagna and jambalaya and we drank root beer floats, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Mondays we had dirty rice. I slept on a wardrobe in the dining room. My nine brothers slept in the laundry room.
I had to get up every morning at nine to feed the bumblebee and the puma. After that, I had to scrub the master bathroom and comprehend the orchid.
I walked ten kilometers through ice storms and hailstorms to get to school every morning, wearing only a gunny sack and a cap. We had to learn engineering and astrology, all in the space of eleven hours.
Mom worked hard, making gross pain pills by hand and selling them for only twenty-five pesos each. She had to feel every pain pill eighteen times.
Dad worked as a philanthropist and earned only ninety-seven dimes a day. We couldn't afford any African violets, so we made do with only a key.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up distressed and sober.