Growing up I was fairly well-received by my classmates; In elementary school I was that chubby kid who made people laugh. Certainly I was by no means elite, most of that type always seemed to have it a bit easier. They always seemed one-step ahead. I spent a lot of time as a kid wondering why I wasn’t like them, wanting the be them. Planning on it. For the most part, the common denominator was money. Without it, a family feeds upon itself, upon its stress and lack of progress. Some people are inclined to accept their lot. Me? I developed a burning anger, a deep-seated sarcasm, a loathing, a silent belief that I was not just better then where I was, but who I was. I resented that my parents had taken a social-mobility step-backwards from the high-hopes of their greatest generation forebears.
a piece of history
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