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I can understand a little why people say that. My father never said it, but I could always see it in his face. He came from the rural South too. After WWII, his job took him all over the country until he finally settled here. He bought what he considered his "dream home." Over the years, bigger homes were built around us. We were teased for living in a wooden shack, but my father maintained his pride and continued to call this a GOOD house. My parents did the very best they could to stay up-to-date, keep up with the Joneses, stay in fashion, or whatever it is people are expected to do for appearance sake. I was too embarrassed and ashamed to have any friends over because their homes were always much more fun than mine. My house had no real privacy, and the walls are thin.
When I bought the house after my father died, I had plans to really make this house a nice home. It never happened. Instead, the shack continued to deteriorate. My water pipes freeze in the winter, the insulation was eaten away by mice years ago, and the electrical circuitry is just as bad. We only have one bathroom, which doesn't always work.
When people come to visit me, they joke about "slumming." I don't appreciate having my home and neighborhood called a "slum." I don't appreciate it when people criticize my husband for not doing a better job a providing for me. It's not HIS fault, and it's not MY fault we are poor.
My son is in college now, and doing well. After his last visit with his biological father, he went on and on about the beautiful life in California. He can't wait to get out of here, so that he can live in a big beautiful house, have a big beautiful car, a big beautiful boat, and a big beautiful motorcycle.
Yes, that is very nice, he can do whatever he wants - but it hurts to see such hatred for our home and city. I don't like being poor, and I didn't raise him to be so materialistic. That's not what hurts though. He acts like he knows more about life than I do. He appears disgusted to be in my home, as if he's only biding his time until he can get away to live the "good life" with all his fancy toys. He believes people who own expensive items are somehow BETTER than people like me and my husband - why is that? Are we all Kings and Queens now - nothing but the best for us?
It hurts me because I'm dying - but big homes, big cars, and fancy new things have become more important to my son than his own family. Society has taught him to look down upon his parents (my husband and I) and his home. I'm not jealous or envious. It just hurts to know all those fancy things have made him want to move so far away from home. If I'm still alive when he makes his move, I'll most likely never see him again.
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