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Marrying a Rich Man or a Poor Man
My father had four daughters. To his misfortune, the days of arranged marriages were long gone. He found he had little say over our choice of husbands. One by one, we got married. For the first, he threw a lavish church wedding and reception dinner. His first son-in-law was not wealthy but he was gainfully employed. What more could he ask?
His second son-in-law had known my sister since they were in middle school, and I was still in elementary school. I grew up thinking he was like the brother I never had. My father loved him like a son even though he, like son-in-law number one, was not rich.
Son-in-law number three also didn’t have much money. He and my sister met at the local community college. My father frowned to learn he had a low-paying job, but he was going to school and that provided some hope. But then, they divorced. Her second husband was a bellman.
When it came time for me to marry, my father decided to dole out some wisdom. “Lori, it is just as easy to marry a rich man as it is to love a poor man,” he said. I loved when he tried to give us advice. He always used age-old adages. His favorites were from Benjamin Franklin. I regret that in my naïveté, I considered these good talks to be opportunities to spar instead of to learn. But when he brought up loving a rich man, for some reason, it offended me deeply.
“What?” I cried. “How can you say that? I want to marry for love. NOT for money.”
“But why not marry someone you love who has money?”
“Rich men are materialistic,” I scoffed. “They only want arm candy and then they throw their women away when they get old just to get younger arm candy. I’d rather marry a poor man who loves me.”
He gave up.
True to my word, I married for love and not for money. The proof: My husband didn’t have money. And as we slogged along, scraping by with a growing family and a meager salary, I learned why my father put such importance on money. The stress and strain of making a small paycheck stretch to cover the rent, cars, electricity, gas, food and medical bills was overwhelming. The worries over whether we’d be evicted or if we had the money to wash our clothes at the laundry mat this week made me question if I did the right thing by opting to stay home full-time with the kids instead of going back to work.
I realized, to my chagrin, that I had entered the ranks of the poor. Not that I’d ever been rich. Most of my life, I considered us in the lower middle-class rank. Nothing to boast about, but we were mostly content. We had a roof to sleep under, food on the table, cars, clothes and money for college. But now, as I listened to an apartment neighbor talk about her monthly “Mother’s Day” gift, I realized she was talking about her welfare check. And another young mother tried to “help” me out by connecting me with a friend who could shoplift baby clothes from an upscale department store. For a small cut, she said, I could return my “purchases” for cash. It sickened me. How low had we sunk?
I had a college education but wasn’t using it. I insisted on not missing a minute of our children’s childhood and it came at a price. My husband was working as hard as he could and it wasn’t enough. But somehow we made it.
The kids grew. Today, we look back and see at the remarkable values gained by going through those lean years. My children are not materialistic. They never thought they were poor growing up because we always managed to give a little bit of food, money or clothes to the “poor.” They are not brand conscious nor are they greedy. They were content with the simple things in life that come free: A beach day, a horsey back ride from daddy, a story and a back scratching from mommy, pillow-and-blanket tents in the living room.
We had our worries, but we still treasured our very favorite part of the day when we’d snuggle under the covers and talk about our future, the kids and how much we loved each other…no matter what. Sure our financial troubles caused a lot of fights, but we held onto each other and were thankful that our kisses were free.
As the children grew, so did our income. We began to live a modest but better lifestyle. We moved to a better community with good schools for the kids. And soon, we’ll face a new challenge with wealth. But for richer and for poorer, I vowed, so I think we can manage.
My father went to heaven years ago. And now he knows I made the right choice. We take the love we gather here on earth, but there’s no money in heaven. When my husband goes, he’ll be one of the wealthiest men there. And my father will be so proud of him.
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