if you cut me i could shine

Lat night I sat in on a focus group of homeless women who gathered around to talk about their difficulties in clothing their kids, and how the lack of suitable (read: popular, expensive, hip) attire causes issues in their homes. (or shelter housing at the moment)

I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but I found the whole thing fascinating. The women had kids ranging from 5-20 years of age, and had from 1-6 kids each. All spoke of the same pressure - not having enough money to clothe their kids and the frustrations that caused them at home, and the humiliation the kids suffered at school.

dirty shelter kids. white-trash. loser. ghetto. fat, ugly, stupid.

It was appalling to hear the way their kids were spoken to. And it's not just about having new clothes, it's about labels and brands. Specific stores. One mom said her eight year old was upset because her friends had underwear from Victoria's Secret. Um, seriously? At age eight?

Others spoke of the expense of bras, and how kids at nine or ten were requiring them. Again, I was floored. I can't remember when I got my first bra, but I know I was in my teens.

Kids who, due to years of poor nutrition, were overweight and unable to find clothes their size. And are humiliated for it.

Kids who only had hand me downs, and would go to school and keep their jackets on no matter how hot it gets. Kids that cried and begged to stay home from school because they were too ashamed to face the others.

The moms talked about how painful this is for them - they want more than anything to keep their kids similar to others, but simply unable. About how they cry at night, blame themselves. The guilt. And it's not like these lovely women don't have bigger fish to fry, either. And yet it matters. We are all moms here. No one loves their kids any more or less. It matters the same.

When asked who was responsible, almost every mom said the media. That the media is so harmful in it's pressure to look a certain way, to be thin, to have the right clothes. And how far away from that reality they are, and yet it's in their face all the time.

The whole thing terrified me. I came home and told J we need to get the hell out of this country before M starts school. We need to raise her in the jungle. Without TV. She cannot ever be in the position to feel ashamed of how she looks. We must do this now. He nodded solemnly (no doubt thinking but kindly enough not saying that no matter what we do this will still happen) and we spent another endless conversation around how we can get to Belize, and how fast. And how it's not fast enough.

Because while this population had a specific set of extra challenges, the pain and suffering exists on some level for most kids. It's almost as if babies are born right next to god, go very far away after a while, and then spend the rest of our lives trying to find our way back.

How do we keep our kids from caring about superficial things when the rest of the world insists that they do? What can be done for kids who are defined by their appearance, and treated horribly if they don't meet the standard? My focus group reminded me of Julie and the fascinating discussion that spawned from her In defense of vanity post a couple days ago. I know it's not just the poor kids. I know it's the grown ups too.

But I still wish they got a free pass, because god knows they've got enough extra things to worry about as is.

(i stole the title to this post from a poem Em posted yesterday).