The poor and the middle class work for
money. The rich have money work for them.
“Dad, can you tell me how to get
rich?”
My dad put down the evening paper. “Why do you want
to get rich, Son?”
“Because today Jimmy’s
mom drove up in their new Cadillac, and they were going to their beach house
for the weekend. He took three of his friends, but Mike and I weren’t invited.
They told us we weren’t invited because we were poor kids.”
“They did?” my dad asked
incredulously. “Yeah, they did,” I replied in a hurt tone.
My dad silently shook
his head, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and went back to
reading the paper. I stood waiting for an answer.
The year was 1956. I was nine years old. By some
twist of fate, I attended the same public school where the rich people sent
their kids. We were primarily a sugar-plantation town. The managers of
the
plantation and the other affluent people, such as doctors, business owners, and
bankers, sent their children to this elementary school. After grade six, their
children were generally sent off to private schools. Because my family lived on
one side of the street, I went
to this school.
Had I lived on the other side of the street, I would
Không có nhận xét nào:
Đăng nhận xét