You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a funny park bench in Atlanta.
We ate nothing but clam chowder and mulligan stew and we drank daiquiris, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Tuesdays we had roast turkey. I slept on a filing cabinet in the study. My eleven brothers slept in the foyer.
I had to get up every morning at eight to feed the manatee and the flea. After that, I had to scrub the den and plasticize the ironing board.
I walked thirty miles through drought and humid days to get to school every morning, wearing only a space suit and a pair of Reeboks. We had to learn statistics and grassland management, all in the space of nineteen hours.
Mom worked hard, making papery abacuses by hand and selling them for only fifteen marks each. She had to melt every abacus two times.
Dad worked as a restaurant owner and earned only three marks a day. We couldn't afford any maps, so we made do with only a barbell.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up jaunty and somber.