Born on first base, maybe even second

 

Let’s talk about privilege.

As a kid, I never thought of myself as privileged.

Growing up as a member of the sixth generation on our family’s cattle farm, I was busy with school, helping my parents on the farm or in the garden, playing a little soccer and spending time with my menagerie of pets.

My biggest beef was arguing with my parents to drive me the 20 minutes into town so I could spend time with my “city” friends.

Other kids had bigger houses. Wore clothes from the mall (not Walmart nor sewn by their mom) and shoes with labels like Reebok and Nike. The occasional kid had a swimming pool. Many had basement family rooms with cable television and HBO, and their parents drove newer cars.

All in all, their lives seemed a little more gilded than mine, a little more charmed.

And I would have sold my soul for a Swatch Watch.

Then I went off to college and was assigned to write an essay about my childhood. When everything was laid out on the page in glaring black and white - juxtaposed with the fact that I had recently met others not so blessed - I finally realized the bubble of privilege in which I’d been living my entire life.

We had a large farmhouse with central heat and air conditioning that included three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a dining room, a den, a formal living room, a family room and a huge country kitchen. We had a large upright piano, and our big front porch literally had pillars.

We got one of the first satellite television dishes in the county when I was 12 and had one of the earliest geothermal energy units installed in our back yard.

We had a home computer, two reliable cars and plenty of food on our table. We traveled all over the country. Our family vacations included national parks and monuments, Disney World, beaches, museums, big cities and small.

They saved enough money to buy both my brother and I our first cars, and they sent me to Space Camp.

To SPACE CAMP.

Y’all have any idea how expensive that was - even back in the ‘90s?!!

We had land. Lots of it. And several barns filled with tractors and plows and rakes and mowers and a large baler and a stock truck and a combine and more. None of them brand new but very well cared for.

And that’s just “the stuff.”

Let’s talk about the REAL stuff.

My dad was a college graduate, and my mom a veteran of a trade school. My brother and I were encouraged from the cradle to pursue the gift of learning and a quality education. 

Our parents helped us with our homework every night. They cheered for us at soccer games, served as scout leaders and volunteers, were leaders in our church, listened to hours and hours and hours of piano and flute and saxophone practice and then hours and hours and hours of concerts. They drove to our out-of-town events and never missed a game. 

Our home was a safe home. No domestic violence. No sexual abuse. No addictions. Two parents with a solid marriage based on trust and respect. Sure, there were occasions when money was tight, and my parents made adjustments until things picked up. Such is the life of a farm family.

So to recap: I grew up in a loving home with two parents who worked hard to create a safe and privileged world for us.

And I was the spoiled brat who failed to notice because I was too busy comparing myself to other people.

Thankfully I’ve matured and learned to embrace my privilege.

Generational wealth - whether measured in dollars or emotional support - is a real thing. It makes a huge difference in the lives of families, and I think many of us are blind to the effects of that wealth.

When we think of generational wealth, we perhaps think more of folks like the very wealthy: the millionaires and the billionaires who pass down their portfolios from generation to generation, spawning yet another group of trust fund babies who grow up to attend Eton and Harvard then join their family firms to make even more money.

But privilege is more insidious than the One Percenters demonstrate. Privilege extends down the tax bracket. Into families like mine and families like yours.

Chatting with my husband recently I remarked how ironic it is that the folks I hear who gripe the most about the state of our country today enjoy a life of relative privilege.

They aren’t One Percenters.

But they have solid jobs with good paychecks. Access to local healthcare and good insurance. Safe homes. Healthy families. Season ticket packages to their favorite sports teams. Some send their children to private school or pay big bucks for travel sports.

So I find it difficult to understand where the anger comes from. 

Anger at social programs aimed to help the less fortunate and the elderly. Anger at organizations that help curb unwanted pregnancies or provide healthcare to women.

Anger at college loan forgiveness even though qualifying borrowers have already paid back the principal balance and a ton of interest but are stuck based on the cruddy way the loans were written because 18 year olds didn't realize the ramifications of those high-interest loans. (I repaid my college loans, and I don’t have a problem assisting others who are caught in that trap. Forgive the remaining loan interest so they can instead pour that money back into the economy in healthier ways like at your local businesses or as mortgage payments.)

They show anger at programs aimed to increase access to childcare and affordable housing. Anger to extend opportunities to new or established small business owners. Anger at laws created to curtail an end to the cycle of domestic abuse, drug abuse, sexual abuse, or school and workplace shootings.

I fail to understand the anger.

Because many of you are like me - born on first base, maybe even second, while others are still in the batter’s box.

People who grow up not knowing where the next meal is coming from.

People who grow up hiding in a closet so the “friendly” uncle won’t find them.

People who grow up with a learning disability and their school doesn’t have the resources to help.

People who don’t have parents who go to their games or concerts because those parents can’t be bothered.

People with an addict for a mother, an alcoholic for a father.

People who grow up bullied for their skin color, their religion, their sexuality.

People who grow up learning to dodge their father’s fists or their mother’s anger.

People who grow up in foster care because their parents are dead or in jail.

People who grow up and get trapped in violent relationships with nowhere to turn.

Most of these people are trapped in a cycle that bleeds down to the next generation. If the Universe gives them a fighting chance, the strong ones get out.

Everyone else is stuck.

Generation after generation after generation. THAT is their generational "wealth."

So if we have the ability to help, don’t we also have the responsibility?

Privilege is a complicated and often uncomfortable thing to acknowledge, especially when it forces us to look closely at our own lives and the assumptions we’ve held for so long. But it’s important to understand that privilege isn’t solely about wealth or status; it’s about the multitude of advantages, big and small, that we often take for granted.

Recognizing our own privilege can be the first step toward empathy. It can help us better understand why certain programs, policies or social safety nets exist - not to burden those of us who have enough, but to lift up those who don’t.

When we fail to recognize our own advantages, it becomes too easy to dismiss the struggles of others as simply a lack of effort or determination.

The irony of privilege is that it can breed complacency and, even more troubling, a sense of entitlement. We may convince ourselves that we’ve earned everything on our own, without help, blind to the structures that have supported us all along. And that blindness can lead to resentment when we see others receiving assistance.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. By reflecting on where we’ve come from and the circumstances that have helped us along, we can become more compassionate, more understanding and, ideally, more supportive of others.

I’ve learned to embrace my own privilege. Not to hold it over others, but to use it as a lens through which I can view the world more clearly. It’s only when we truly understand our own story that we can help write a better one for everyone else.

So, let’s keep talking about privilege. Let’s keep learning, questioning and growing - because the more we see, the more we understand. And with that, the more we can make a difference.