The reality of poverty: Growing up working-poor and invisible

Published in the Catalyst, Vol. 32, No. 3 - Summer/Fall 2009

I grew up in a working-poor, Irish Catholic family in St. John's Newfoundland in the 1950s. This in a way says it all, and it has shaped me. But I have tried not to let it define me as a person, as I am so much more. And I have worked hard not to let my background limit me.

If I were to describe in a word what it was like growing up in a working-poor family, it would be stressful. I remember the stress of social exclusion: of being excluded from extracurricular activities with my peers, of not having access to the material things they had.

My most poignant childhood memory involves wanting to be a girl guide and not being able to because we couldn't afford the uniform. I remember looking in the window of the church basement watching other girls at their meeting. I felt like all kids from poor homes feel – on the outside looking in.

My father was an active union member and there was always the stress that he might go on strike. There was the stress of growing up in a housing situation controlled by an unjust landlord who looked upon your family simply as a rent check. And there was the stress of not being able to afford a tutor to help with a nonverbal learning disability. I remember absorbing the stress in my parent’s marriage created by our financial situation.

Ordinary experiences like going to a dentist were a major hurdle for me.  There was no extra money for regular dental checkups, not to mention expensive dental work. I grew up in a time before Tommy Douglas and Medicare. When someone in the family needed to go to hospital or to the doctor, there were extra expenses and added stress.

I became aware of my place in the social hierarchy at a very young age. In kindergarten I quickly realized that there were different schools for different classes of children. The more well-off girls attended the Mercy school, while the working-poor girls went to the Presentation school. The more well-off boys went to St. Bonaventure school and working-poor boys went to St. Pat's school.

There were experiences that shattered or affirmed your faith. I remember one Christmas my parents could not afford a turkey for dinner and were planning on having roast beef instead. A local meat market was selling tickets on a turkey, so my parents bought one ticket. I remember listening on the radio Christmas Eve when the ticket was drawn, and hearing my father's name announced as the lucky winner. What are the chances?

Heartfelt childhood memory

There were people, one neighbour I remember in particular, who were unbelievably supportive of my family. Mrs. Windsor and her family were truly instruments of God's love. Not only did they provide emotional support, especially for my mother, but they reached out to my family in many ways.

I don't know what we would have done without them when our apartment caught fire in December 1959. We lived in row housing, and when a fire broke out four doors up from us, within minutes the whole side street was on fire. The Windsors took us in and one of my most heartfelt childhood memories is Mrs. Windsor bringing my brother and me a cup of hot milk to settle us down that evening. She also helped my mom find resources and access services she needed. Because my mom was a country girl from Chapel Arm, Trinity Bay, this help in navigating the system was really important.

I remember the Windsors allowing me to visit their house to watch TV when we didn't have one. When my parents couldn't afford piano lessons, she took me under her wing and “tried” to teach me. They were people who truly lived the Gospel message.

Not just an old story

You may be thinking this is ancient history, asking what relevance does it have to today?

Unfortunately it has too much relevance. It is relevant to people using food banks around our country. It is relevant to young single mothers who tell me they can't afford to buy milk for their children. It is relevant to the 200 people who are served Sunday Supper at St. Andrew's United Church in Halifax.

It is also relevant to the people I interviewed panhandling on Halifax’s main street for the Canadian Social Form. Most of them were cancer survivors, and one man was paraplegic as a result of being swarmed and beaten by a gang of young men.

These people were not addicted to drugs or unwilling to work. They were simply supplementing an inadequate social assistance allowance. I want to make clear, at this point, that I can only imagine the kind of poverty I see people deal with every day. Hunger and poverty is very real and relevant to these people.

My mother dealt with health problems while raising a large family with no social supports and medical services that did not serve her well. She was lucky, however, to have a strong, supportive extended family. There were, and still are, other women and men less fortunate.

I had an interesting and insightful experience while writing this article. In looking at what I had written, I suddenly noticed I was using second or third person pronouns. I also noticed that I was using distancing language like “families” instead of “my family.” I had to go through the whole article and change the way I had written it. I guess it was difficult to deal with the realities of my childhood.

In closing, I want to say that the poor have become the invisible in our society. I hope this article contributes to making the invisible more visible.

Sharon Murphy is a retired psychiatric social worker who received the Volunteer of the Year Award in Nova Scotia for 2006. Recently relocated to Halifax, Sharon sits on the board of directors for Canada Without Poverty.