Oh, if only you knew. If only you could be 13 year old me, walking in the cold through a dirt road carrying five grocery bags with my sister and mom trailing behind me, out of breath, almost dragging a large worn bag filled with more groceries. We were too embarrassed to carry home 14 plastic bags at 10 o' clock at night.
If only you could be 13 year old me, waiting on the stairs of the apartment knowing that I would miss my eighth grade band concert where I had a duet with my friend, listening to my mom continuously say that we couldn't go unless our father drove out to go to my concert, but really neither he nor we had a car. Father was too busy earning money in a stuffy kitchen to keep our stomachs full. I listened to my friend accuse me of abandoning her on purpose because I chickened out.
If only you could be 13 year old me, scooping up strawberry flavored Nesquik powder in my mouth because that was the only thing we had in the house to eat, watching my mother vomit stomach acid until her stomach was empty of that, too, gulping down a Carl's Jr. burger that my brothers brought when they finally decided that our claims of starving for days were probably true and confirmed that "there's nothing but ketchup in the refrigerator."
If only, right? But I only nod and smile at you because you won't ever know.