I was born into a humble home run by a single mother and her son who was but a year or two older than I. As children, we never thought we were broke, but we were pretty aware that we didn’t have a whole lot.
More important than this, we knew the worth of a Shilling before we ever felt the need to ask for one. So, while mildly oblivious of our own financial state, we were deftly able to assess those around us without passing judgment.
Not judging, however, does not mean not feeling. I can’t speak for my older wiser brother, but I felt the sting every time anyone unjustly flaunted their supposed wealth in my face. From rich cousins and their new toys to schoolmates and…well…their toys. As I grew older, it was politicians that made me sick. Scam and con artist thieves that they were, they made my stomach churn audibly. And not because they were doing wrong, but because they dared rub it our faces. They dared rub their premature, soon-to-expire, undeserved trinkets in starving people’s faces; shamelessly.
I raised my chubby little 8 year old fist and shook it, swearing revenge. Continue reading