Spoiled

I'm sister-less for the weekend. She left to L.A./Malibu for the weekend, but not before giving us this little gem:

Sister walks into the kitchen to show Mom and I her new razor.
It's the one with the regular blade on one end, and a bikini-area trimmer on the other.

Sister: Oh my God... look at this!
Sister turns on the trimmer. 
Me: What the... does that shit vibrate?!
Sister: Yeah! It works like a freakin... it's like what they use at a barber shop to give fades to guys!
Mom: What's it for?
Sister: Well, you know... to trim your bikini area... or maybe something more like your face, now that I see how it works...
Mom: Hmmm... I think I'm gonna use that to cut your dad's hair from now on.
Sister: No... I think you better not.

Oh, my sweet little mother.

Anyway, that was a nice break from yesterday. At least Sister's back to laughing now.
Last night she came home crying... and I mean crying... runny nose, puffy eyes, and really loud sobs.
Holy shit... what the fuck happened?! Did someone die?! 
I found out why ****** dumped me. Wanna know why? He said I'm spoiled.
I was still confused over my interview experience to say much, and quite frankly, I'm clueless when it comes to giving good advice after someone's dumped. I mean, I don't even know how to handle myself after getting dumped.
I just sat there and stared at her as she sobbed and rubbed at her eyes angrily.
Well... that's... fucked up. Wait... you had a boyfriend?
And I was like "FUCK YOU! Just because I don't have to worry about a mortgage... and that my car is fully paid for... I'm getting dumped because I have no bills to worry about? FUCK YOU! My dad worked his fucking ass off to give his family the lifestyle we live now. YOU DON'T KNOW ME!! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I'VE BEEN THROUGH, YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT MY DAD HAS BEEN THROUGH! He didn't want his kids to go through all the pain and misery that being poor brought him!! YOU CAN'T FAULT ME FOR THAT!"
... Oh... wow... well... don't cry over a guy who judges you like that... his loss. Seriously. Stop it, dude. Te quitaste una nopalera. (my favorite Mexican saying, which basically translates to "You didn't get rid of a thorn... you got rid of a cactus")

I don't think Dad ever imagined his daughters would have the opposite problem he had in his dating days.
He was dumped by the love of his life for being "un muerto de hambre," a poor, working-class immigrant boy.
We get dumped for being "rich."

To us, the worst adjective anyone can use to describe us is "spoiled."
It makes me violent, actually.
To me, a "spoiled" person never had to get clothes from the salvation army... or hand-me-downs from the extended family.
Growing up, they owned more than one pair of shoes a year.
They slept in a room, even if they shared it with a sibling... and slept on a bed, even if it was shared with a sibling.

Just like Dad dreamed of eating two eggs in the morning when he was growing up, I dreamt of sleeping in a bed, in a bedroom... which I wouldn't mind sharing with my sister AND brother.

Until the age of 14, I slept in the living room of my one-bedroom house, and shared a sofa with my sister. Mom, Dad, and brother slept in the one bedroom.
Sister and I would hug on to each other at night whenever we'd hear gangsters fighting/shooting outside... or prostitutes getting beat by their pimps/Johns, or drug-addicts breaking into our car to steal anything they could sell to feed their habit.
We heard more than one person get killed in front of our house. We'd be "lucky" enough to see the dead body in front of our house in the morning on our way to the bus.
Drug-addicts pounding on our door in the middle of the night, screaming some stranger's name... my heart pounding so hard I can nearly taste it.
We were restricted to one pair of shoes a year... we'd have to tear them apart to get new shoes... that were on sale of course... and never a name brand.
Clothes shopping was... a rarity, since our clothes were usually hand-me-downs from members of the extended family (thank you, Mooney!) and once, during a particularly rough year, we were given Salvation Army clothes.

All this never really bothered me while in elementary, since I thought it was normal, considering all my friends were... ghetto like me. But once middle school came around, that was a different story.
We were predominantly ghetto Latinos in the neighborhood, so we actually had kids from the East side of town bused in.
They were all in advanced classes... how many ghetto Latinos were in the advanced classes? Just me.
They were cool and everything, but I felt too embarrassed to ever have any of them over at my place, and I felt too ghetto to go to theirs.
I was in orchestra, and during concerts, I'd be given a ride home from my East side friend (who gave rides to the rest of my East side friends) because my family was "too bored" to go to my concerts. I remember when her mom would drop me off, I made her drop me off at the cross street, so she wouldn't know where I lived... it was too mortifying. No one in the car was allowed to get off... because... well, the mom wasn't stupid, that place was bad.

I had one family member who KILLED my front.
One day, during gym class, she told the entire fucking class about my house. How it was infested with cockroaches (it was true, but still... don't say that shit!), how we didn't really fit there because we had no room to put our clothes anywhere, so it would just sit in the "hallway" between the kitchen and bedroom.
Everyone laughed and "Eww"ed. My sister cried... I just stood there, mortified... wanting to smash her smug little smile off her face.
She'd go to Disneyland and six-flags, and buy all those stupid things you can get there... like that photo they take when you're riding the coaster... and she'd show up at our house wearing a shirt that had her photo riding the coaster stamped on it.
I'd get so jealous. I had to wait until I was 14 to go to Disneyland... do you know how gay it is by the time you're 14?

Do "spoiled" people have memories like those?

Now, as an adult, I'm blessed enough not to have to struggle to make ends meet.
I was poor... as a kid.
I know about struggle... I know what "life" is about... I know the "cost" of money.
My childhood (as well as my siblings') was robbed of peace and a lot of innocence-- details I'd rather not get into on here... but trust me when I say some things that were said/done/taken from us should never be experienced by any child.
We had to grow up, and fast... and honestly, no money can ever erase some of the pain acquired during those years. After all this, it kills me to know someone still has the gall to call one of us "spoiled" because it's only now when we can finally go about our lives without a fucking care in the world.
It was years of sacrifice, and finally, we are allowed days in the sun.
I'm sorry if that offends you and makes you hate me, asshole... but there wasn't much I could do. I was born to these parents... and I'd be a fucking idiot to tell them "No, quit giving me shit. Thanks for the offer, and nearly killing yourselves working so hard to give us a better life... but I want to go out there on my own and know what suffering is really like... oh wait... I do! But I'm going to do it anyway! Destitute living, here I come... again!"

Shit... I just hope someone calls me "spoiled" to my face... I will break their fucking jaw so that's the last word they mutter for the next six months.