A kid with one pair of pants

How many people can point to a specific time in their life that really defines who they are?
I can.  It has to do with a single pair of pants.
There I was in the dining room of our house doing homework, when I overheard my Mom say to a visitor in the kitchen (I don't remember who), "All through the seventh grade, David had only one pair of pants.  Thank God he never realized it."
From that point forward, I realized that we were poor.
My folks worked hard; harder than most, actually, but never really 'made it'.
Hearing my Mom say those words make me acutely aware of our situation going into the future.
We lived in other people's houses, being renters.  My cousin Jimmy would send hand-me-down clothes to my brother and myself.
Our used cars were not purchased because of their utility; they were cheaper.
Unopened bills were stacked in the end cupboard, and I realized that they were probably not opened so that Mom or Dad could say honestly that they had not seen them.
Darned socks.  Patched clothes.  Shoes bought only when on sale.
I can remember Dad walking to and from work when the car was in need of repairs; it was a good distance, too.
One year, during his vacation, he drove taxi cab.
There were only two memories of family vacations; one to Canada with another family  and  one to Fuse Lake in Montana for camping and fishing.  When we entered Canada, the border folks asked how much money would be spent there.  Our trip mate, Mac, answered '..about $500'.  Dad answered '$200'.  There were four of us and only three of them.
And it all came down to one pair of pants.
During my life, I have always been sensitive, perhaps too much so, about money.  Since I rarely had any growing up, it was impossible for me to fully grasp and understand the VALUE of money, a trait that continues to this day.  Is $20 a lot of money?  I really don't know.  I do know how embarrassing it is to be without it, or not to have enough.
Working for wages, having to fight the State of Washington over child support, and pay lawyers for the same reason, living in poverty was still with us.
But, ten years ago, I could see a way out of it all: I could make 50% more money in Las Vegas, so I moved there.  Not only were wages much higher, my approaching retirement would be increased, and the extra money could go into savings.  This alone justified the move to Nevada.
The sale of the Mead house would be phenomenal; the equity would be tax-free, and with silver selling at only $7, we could make a prime investment that would pay off without risk.
But, the house didn't sell, and all the extra money went to support two bums on welfare, even while they banked all their earnings.  It was necessary, I'm told, because they would move out of the house if we listed it, leaving the house without any protection at all.
Blackmail.
Now, after all those years of working, those decades of being a slave to an alarm clock, I'm still a slave to an alarm clock, as wife has had to go back to work.   Even so, it's turned into a hellhole for her; she has to put up with assholes all day long and brings it all home.  It adds to an intolerable rage and hatred I've had for many years; my stomach is upset all the time, I hate leaving her at work, knowing that they'll try to make things hard for her every fucking day.  It all piles up.
The money we SHOULD have, DESERVE to have, are ENTITLED to went somewhere else.  And he'll NEVER pay it back; he feels entitled to whatever he wants.
A new custom built home, built from the ground up, fill for the yard, nice pre-built shed, sprinkler system, sod, cedar fencing, a custom Ford pickup with leather interior, firearms, and oh, yes, AIR CONDITIONING.
I've wanted air conditioning since we moved back, but we can't afford it, because the little bastard and his fat assed girlfriend/fat assed wife CAN.  Great, huh?
I have a ghetto piece of wood surrounding a portable A/C unit in the window over the kitchen sink.
 Then, a few months ago, he came up with the supreme insult:  he brought a $30,000 sports car over to show us!!  He got it because he wanted it!!
I know where he got the money; I EARNED IT!!!   He spent it!!!
We're back in the same house we left ten years ago because it's the only place we can afford to live.  It's been over seven years since I've had an allowance.  We still have debt.
I worked for over 50 years and wake up to the daily realization that what I see is what I get; this is all things will ever be.  End of story.  End of me.
"You worked all those decades, and this is how it ends up for you."  Fucked!
WE COULD HAVE BEEN MILLIONAIRES LIVING ON TOP OF THE WORLD!
I could have finally beaten the system, escaped, and had success in my life.
But I'll die early, still the kid with one pair of pants.

Confounding days continue...

There was a siren a few minutes ago; it was on Newport Highway, I believe.  Those things never bring good news.
Speaking of good news, I've made a conscious effort to try to look at the bright side of things, but it doesn't take away the sting of what has happened over the last 10 years or so.
As the weather has turned so cold and snowy lately, it comes to mind that there are many people who would give an arm and leg to live where I do: a nice warm house, sheltered from the elements.  Here it's possible to sit with my shoes off and enjoy a large screen TV or surf the net, or prepare a meal.
But it doesn't help much.
The reality is that The Roo's job is turning to shit.  Lately, her supervisor has been on the rag towards The Roo.  Supervisor looks to be trying to set her up in order to demote or discharge her, even though The Roo has been awarded "Employee of The Month" again, her second time.
Tammy is pretty disheartened over all this, and I can understand why; her problems at work, and the unfair treatment she receives is weighting heavily on me, too.  Coupled with my rage, anger, disappointment, unhappiness and general pissedoffedness of the last decade is making my life miserable too.  Even to the point that I can't function during a normal day anymore.
The main thing is that we could have retired as millionaires,  literally, had we done things my way.
Now, I'm stuck here again with NOTHING to show for 7 years of working in the desert but an upside down house in Las Vegas that I can't sell.
I repeat:  I'll die from all this because it was totally avoidable.