I had the childhood dreams are made of. We lived in Arizona and there was always plenty of open desert to wander through. We found treasure around every corner. We forged our own paths. We learned life lessons. We played in snow. We walked to school. We fed the pets and gathered the eggs from the chickens.
We didn't know how poor we were because we had so much. We had friends. We had a roof over our heads. We had food on the table. We had a car. For a while, we even had piano lessons.
I didn't know we were poor until my birthday that year. I may have been 9 or maybe 10. There was not a dime for me to have "real" birthday presents. My mom sat up at night making me a quilt for my bed. Then, she got cardboard boxes and made a Barbie Dream Home for me.
That was the year I understood how poor my family was. I knew my clothes would rarely be brand new. I knew that I wouldn't have the great stuff my classmates had. But I will tell you something. I had the greatest quilt ever made. I had the grandest Barbie mansion ever created by human hands.
I had those because that was the year I also learned how exceedingly rich I was.
