Rand Rover’s getting shit upon entirely in this thread, with many curious as to why he’s able to post and such throughout the day. I’m pretty pissed so many people are threadshitting - perhaps it’s for his other behaviors in other forums, I’m not sure. So please don’t threadshit, ask genuine questions and you’ll get genuine responses. Perhaps Rand Rover didn’t have a rough upbringing, but some people did, and overcame.
I’m a first generation American. Both of my parents emigrated to the US. My father is Indian, and emigrated in his late 20’s. He was a gastroenterologist, and had to re-do his residency and fellowship here in the states. His family was upper middle class (physicians and small business owners) but lost it all- he lived in Kashmir. You know the story. He was very poor for a time. He emigrated to the Bronx with his best friend (they graduated first and second in their med school together). They both had sponsors in the US - Indians who had come before, made a life, and encouraged other young adults to come over.
When my mom met my dad, he was living in a shack two bedroom home close to the dodgy hospital - no other physician rented. My dad used to watch the Honeymooners to improve his English.
My mother is Cuban, and emigrated when Castro took over in 1960, on her 5th birthday. My grandfather was an OB-GYN physician, and my grandmother ran a preschool. They both came from upper-middle class families, physicians and furniture store owners. Obviously when they fled, they had nothing but the clothes on their backs. My mother gives to the Catholic church, despite being - at best- a theist in her beliefs, because for years they fed and clothed her. My mother wasn’t fluent in English until late middle school, but scored a perfect 800 on the math section of the SAT. She had a full ride to Ohio State. She also went to med school there.
They rarely ever speak of their circumstances, but I have no doubt it bonded them early on. My mother was engaged twice before my father, but swore she never wanted children until she met him. They married at age 30 and 40.
I was raised without ever wanting for anything - yet always having an aching feeling that it could be gone in an instant. My parents have a ton of battle scars from their upbringings, and it affects how I was raised. I used to drink milk four times a day growing up, because my mom never had fresh milk until late in middle school, and her teeth are somewhat damaged as a result. My house had an unusual amount of fresh vegetables and fruit as well, for the same reason. My father witnessed children being kidnapped from their homes, so before we took a vacation, he would encourage me to knit a new bracelet for myself so that he could loop his fingers through it in addition to holding onto my little hand. I wasn’t allowed to bike on the street until I was 8. To this day, if he calls me and I don’t call him back within two hours (the length of a movie), he assumes the absolute worst. When I chipped my tooth last year, I called to tell them I’d be getting the work done. Mom was in surgery, but dad (I called a handful of numbers) had just finished a procedure and gone to the board room for lunch. I called the board room, spoke to someone, who called for my dad, who literally tripped over two chairs to get to the phone, out of breath and panicked.
My parents both worked 80 hours a week when I was growing up (they’ve since cut back drastically), so I had a full time nanny - Anne, who I loved dearly. My parents lived nervously - they never carried a mortgage until they bought their second home (ten years ago), and they lived very modestly for both being specialists.
Now, onto the fun stuff. Yes, we belonged to a country club - mainly it was to become friends with other physicians, to seek out their referrals. I ate escargot at a young age. I had new toys, clothes, and shoes, whatever I wanted (which was mostly books and blocks). My parents liked to go into the city and watch a show while I stayed with a babysitter. I’ve stayed at plenty of 4 star hotels. I’ve always had my own bedroom and bathroom, and computer. When I got my license, I got a nice, used luxury car. I usually entertained my friends in high school, because we had a big rec room, TV, and my mom kept plenty of food around.
When I got my first apartment in college, there were just 2 units left in the building (it was very close to campus) and you needed a cashier’s check for the first and last month’s rent and deposit, for me plus my 3 roommates. The total was nearly 5 grand. I called my mom, emailed her pictures and explained the situation. My roommates cut my mom their share of the money within the next two weeks, but I had 5 grand in hand the next day, and the apartment. This was a situation I remain grateful for, that few other people could manage on such short notice. It was the pivotal moment when I realized I could never live on less than I’d grown up on.
Something my nanny never did for me that other kids I grew up with seem to struggle with is pick up after me. She did when I was very young, but I had to clean up after myself - I’m meticulous as an adult, a skill many friends (and dopers) don’t seem to have together. I distinctly remember being six years old, and told to make my bed and put all the stuffed animals on top. I must have had a dozen. I declared that I wanted to get rid of them all, and just keep my favorite, Wolfie. I began giving things I didn’t use to charity, urged on by my nanny and my parents. Since then I’ve shunned having many possessions - they’re burdensome to take care of. I have two siblings, and both have reacted differently to money than I have. The one brother is going to be a SEAL, because he hates studying in college (despite having a 3.5) and my other brother intends to be far wealthier than my parents and live on the beach.
So, ask away. Ask what I think about the tax system, ask if I can sleep at night, ask what I plan to do for a living, ask about charity, ask about luxury cars and vacation homes - the decisions I make or my parents make, ask about anything. But please, don’t threadshit.
For the record, I’m just 23, so I’ve yet to embark upon my career.
