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Printed from https://writing.com/main/books/entry_id/565807
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Rated: GC · Book · Activity · #1218638
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#565807 added February 5, 2008 at 7:52pm
Restrictions: None
SSP 1.1
I think it all began with the company stocks.

My father, before I was born, purchased a few stocks in an infant company. I don’t remember the name of it, but I do know that it made as much money as Microsoft did, perhaps even more. Had my father known it would take off as quickly and efficiently as it did, he probably would have taken out another mortgage on the house for stocks. As it was, he had already spent what little extra money he had into the stocks, more to see if he would gain, less to actually make anything.

When the stocks took off, he sold half and moved my very pregnant mother to a bigger, more expensive house, paid off his debts, and went back to business school. To put our situation into perspective, not only did he not worry about student loans, scholarships, or anything of the like, but he also kept the electricity, maids, nannies, and gardener without breaking a sweat. Times were sweet…until the family came a’ knocking.

Everyone knows at least one family member who, when they hear about a relative making it big, will swarm all over the relative, begging for cash. My mother had no one else but her parents, and they were content in their little cottage. My father, however, had greedy, gluttonous relatives who, hearing about our little fortune, demanded pay for everything nice they’d ever done for us. Most only wanted the money they’d lent to father during our hard times, and father was happy to pay. Others, however, almost seemed obsessed by my father’s money, asking for “loans” and “favors”, never giving anything in return.

Finally, my father cut ties to almost every relative he knew; just to get away from the “gimmes” in our life. The family on his side became bitter towards him, avoiding him like he was a convicted murderer. Father didn’t bother trying to connect to anyone on his side again until the stocks that he’d kept fell through.

Almost overnight, the situation became bad. Not only were we in debt, but the people who could help us out, my father’s family, refused to help. They thought that we deserved poverty because we were too good to buy a Ferrari for Cousin Daryl, or a new house for Aunt Lydia, or even an 18-wheeler for Robert. After all, we had only helped out those in need, not those who could stand on their own two feet. Why should they help us?

Mother’s parents tried to help, but they had no room for all of us in their one-bedroom cottage. The few weeks we spent in their tiny home after we had to sell ours was positively claustrophobic. The only relief came from a letter from father’s Aunt Maxine.

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