An Unexpected Lesson in Wealth and Sandwiches

We were very poor growing up. You never ate the last of anything without asking first. Portions were small and limited. When I was 11, I was invited over to a then friend’s house. I was floored by their house and furnishings — very opulent compared to mine.

Lunchtime came. Her mom had set the table for sandwiches, with everything laid out: three different breads, various meats, condiments, and fruit. At my house, lunch was a sandwich with day-old white bread, peanut butter, and jelly. Sometimes we would have thin-sliced meats. We were only allowed two slices of meat per sandwich.

So, at this friend’s house, I made my sandwich with one slice of ham because it was much thicker than the stuff at home. The mom kind of freaked out and yelled, “What kind of sandwich is that? You need to put more on it; that’s not enough.” I explained that’s what we do at home. They were horrified and ended up sending me home with a “care package” of food.
My parents never let me go to her house again because they were embarrassed I told them we were poor.