I am an early-mid Boomer, born in 1949, and I was raised in a family of 7, led by a good fellow who could never land a "good" job. Mom, of course, never worked outside the home. Both parents were heavy smokers (Pall Mall), and "social drinkers," (an expression that refers to a high-functioning alcoholic).
When I was born, we (parents and five kids) lived in subsidized housing in a deteriorating neighborhood that shortly after we left became all-Black. Our exit from that housing arrangement - when I was 5 - was facilitated by a Grandmother who was living alone in the family homestead, trying to survive on Social Security alone (not sure of the exact amount, but it was less then $100/month), which simply did not pay enough for living, taxes, utilities and the constant repairs required of a hundred-year-old house. The arrangement was, my father would take over the expenses of the house and we would live there "rent free." After a few years, the house needed several major repairs costing more than the house was worth, so Grandma signed it over to my mother, which facilitated a mortgage loan to pay for the work (about $5 grand).
In our household, there was simply no money for "extras" like a car, a television, new outfits for special occasions, and so forth. When my oldest sister got married, our celebration was a breakfast, at our house, for about 20 people. Her husband was an only child and his parents asked if it would be OK if they had something in the evening, to supplement the wedding breakfast - 200 people at a local fire hall.
Gradually, we moved into the 20th century. We grabbed a worn out B&W television from the junk pile and got it fixed, my dad bought a ten-year-old Nash, and my older brothers got jobs to contribute to the family funds. When I reached HS I went to a parochial HS that had a tuition charge ($100/yr), and required that we wear a sports coat and tie every day. As long as I paid my own expenses I didn't have to pay room & board.
My parents' generation was raised during the Depression, and they were noted for a lot of things, including the fact that they were always paranoid about being poor and/or broke...even when they became prosperous. So you would have successful small businessmen and even some corporate executives who drove around in old Chevies and Fords because they didn't have the financial confidence to drive the Caddy that they could easily afford. This irrational fear of being broke was sometimes called, "Depression Syndrome." In the case of my parents, they didn't have to live like they were poor, they actually were poor. After my mother passed in 1968, it took my dad another decade or so to pay off all the old debts and bring his financial net worth up to zero. (At that point, I invited him to live with me and my wife, which he did until he passed away in 1990).
As a kid, I was always broke. I always had at least one part time job - usually two - and that money just kept me going. I had my expenses and a modest social life, but that was all I could afford. Luckily, my three older brothers had "beaters" that I could borrow when I was going out on a date, as long as I left them with as much gas as they had when I borrowed them. Neither I nor anyone in my immediate posse had a nice or fast car when the Muscle Car era was at its peak in the late 60's. We bought used muscle cars in the 70's when they were 4-5 years old and basically worn out or starting to show serious rust.
I see scores of postings on Facebook with my contemporaries writing about the GTO's, Hemi's and such that they drove around in when they were HS. I remember that era, but I cannot relate. A large part of what I remember is that this stuff was going on and I was working part time jobs and not a part of it.
I realized recently that I have lived my personal life largely as though I had Depression Syndrome. I have almost always bought used cars, or the cheapest new cars that were available at the time (e.g., a '73 AMC Gremlin), even though I/we could have easily bought something nicer. I buy my clothes at Walmart or on the internet, and had to swallow very hard the first time I spent more than $100 on a new suit (for a wedding or funeral, I forget which).
On the other hand, my wife has no such issues, and only spends money prudently because she knows that extravagance makes me uncomfortable. She always buys new cars, and when she bought her new Beemer she kept all the details from me to avoid a blast of shit. She cannot stand me wearing cheap clothes that don't fit right, so buys me "nice stuff" on birthdays and Christmas, which I wear reluctantly. She arranges for cruises and other extravagances without my knowledge, and drags me along with some reluctance.
I waste a lot of money on vehicles, but always well-used. I've ridden motorcycles for decades, but would never buy a Harley, which to me is over-priced and not a particularly good bike anyway.
And at 74 years old, my attitude about spending makes no sense. We have the financial resources to live out our lives in good comfort, leaving our son with enough that he could do the same, not having to work any more. Now we help our son out, even when he says he doesn't need it, assuring him that "we" are not paying for it; it's coming out of his inheritance, dollar for dollar.
I will never be comfortable spending money on extravagances. I wasn't raised that way. It's not really a neurosis, but close.
When I was born, we (parents and five kids) lived in subsidized housing in a deteriorating neighborhood that shortly after we left became all-Black. Our exit from that housing arrangement - when I was 5 - was facilitated by a Grandmother who was living alone in the family homestead, trying to survive on Social Security alone (not sure of the exact amount, but it was less then $100/month), which simply did not pay enough for living, taxes, utilities and the constant repairs required of a hundred-year-old house. The arrangement was, my father would take over the expenses of the house and we would live there "rent free." After a few years, the house needed several major repairs costing more than the house was worth, so Grandma signed it over to my mother, which facilitated a mortgage loan to pay for the work (about $5 grand).
In our household, there was simply no money for "extras" like a car, a television, new outfits for special occasions, and so forth. When my oldest sister got married, our celebration was a breakfast, at our house, for about 20 people. Her husband was an only child and his parents asked if it would be OK if they had something in the evening, to supplement the wedding breakfast - 200 people at a local fire hall.
Gradually, we moved into the 20th century. We grabbed a worn out B&W television from the junk pile and got it fixed, my dad bought a ten-year-old Nash, and my older brothers got jobs to contribute to the family funds. When I reached HS I went to a parochial HS that had a tuition charge ($100/yr), and required that we wear a sports coat and tie every day. As long as I paid my own expenses I didn't have to pay room & board.
My parents' generation was raised during the Depression, and they were noted for a lot of things, including the fact that they were always paranoid about being poor and/or broke...even when they became prosperous. So you would have successful small businessmen and even some corporate executives who drove around in old Chevies and Fords because they didn't have the financial confidence to drive the Caddy that they could easily afford. This irrational fear of being broke was sometimes called, "Depression Syndrome." In the case of my parents, they didn't have to live like they were poor, they actually were poor. After my mother passed in 1968, it took my dad another decade or so to pay off all the old debts and bring his financial net worth up to zero. (At that point, I invited him to live with me and my wife, which he did until he passed away in 1990).
As a kid, I was always broke. I always had at least one part time job - usually two - and that money just kept me going. I had my expenses and a modest social life, but that was all I could afford. Luckily, my three older brothers had "beaters" that I could borrow when I was going out on a date, as long as I left them with as much gas as they had when I borrowed them. Neither I nor anyone in my immediate posse had a nice or fast car when the Muscle Car era was at its peak in the late 60's. We bought used muscle cars in the 70's when they were 4-5 years old and basically worn out or starting to show serious rust.
I see scores of postings on Facebook with my contemporaries writing about the GTO's, Hemi's and such that they drove around in when they were HS. I remember that era, but I cannot relate. A large part of what I remember is that this stuff was going on and I was working part time jobs and not a part of it.
I realized recently that I have lived my personal life largely as though I had Depression Syndrome. I have almost always bought used cars, or the cheapest new cars that were available at the time (e.g., a '73 AMC Gremlin), even though I/we could have easily bought something nicer. I buy my clothes at Walmart or on the internet, and had to swallow very hard the first time I spent more than $100 on a new suit (for a wedding or funeral, I forget which).
On the other hand, my wife has no such issues, and only spends money prudently because she knows that extravagance makes me uncomfortable. She always buys new cars, and when she bought her new Beemer she kept all the details from me to avoid a blast of shit. She cannot stand me wearing cheap clothes that don't fit right, so buys me "nice stuff" on birthdays and Christmas, which I wear reluctantly. She arranges for cruises and other extravagances without my knowledge, and drags me along with some reluctance.
I waste a lot of money on vehicles, but always well-used. I've ridden motorcycles for decades, but would never buy a Harley, which to me is over-priced and not a particularly good bike anyway.
And at 74 years old, my attitude about spending makes no sense. We have the financial resources to live out our lives in good comfort, leaving our son with enough that he could do the same, not having to work any more. Now we help our son out, even when he says he doesn't need it, assuring him that "we" are not paying for it; it's coming out of his inheritance, dollar for dollar.
I will never be comfortable spending money on extravagances. I wasn't raised that way. It's not really a neurosis, but close.
