Reflecting on “Class Matters”

Ever wonder how the service workers in affluent communities afford to live where they work? The simple answer is that most service workers, or public servants do not live in the region that they serve the community. In The New York Time’s piece, “Class Matters”, they claim that in Alpharetta, fewer than one third of city employees lived in the city. My parents, who were county employees in Contra Costa County, commuted two hours to work every day. Rich communities still need teachers, firefighters, law enforcement workers, landscapers, plumbers, and grocery store clerks, and yet, the people who man these jobs and dedicate 40 hours of there week in the community, are priced out, left to leave the affluent cities and commute back home, only to get up and do it again the next day. What would a community look like if it was served by people who were welcome to be there, and not just when they are performing labor?

The article also talks about class differences in interpersonal relationships. The couple discussed in the article differ in class background. The wife’s family was better off than the husband’s and they differ on what kind of car they want to drive, how much money they spend on self-care, and if their kids will have jobs. Although both my parents did not go to college, my mother was well off growing up and father was not. 

My mom’s parents are educated. When my mom was growing up, her mother was the lead nurse in labor and delivery, later becoming a high member on the administrative side of health care, and her father was a pharmacist. My father, on the other hand, grew up poor. His mother was an immigrant, she stayed at home and took care of the house and the four kids, his father was a mechanic in the military. Although my parents shared the same job title, I saw how their different upbringings affected the way they lived life. In general, my mom is a spender, and my dad is a saver. My mom loves to go out to eat and my dad never cares to. Even the foods they like differ. The first time my dad met my mom’s parents, they went to a nice restaurant and ordered artichoke as an appetizer. My dad ate the leaf whole, not knowing how one is supposed to eat an artichoke. We joke about it now and he says that artichoke is “rich white people food”. My mom thinks hamburger helper is gross, but my dad loves it and said it was a staple in their house growing up. My mom has always appreciated nice things, nice furniture, nice clothing, and a pretty home. She always jokes that she has “champagne taste on a beer budget”.

When we lost our house in 2009 due to the housing crash and recession, we moved into this old dusty rental in the countryside of Vacaville. The house was small and dated and the carpets smelt weird. I don’t remember how my dad felt about living in the rental, but I remember my mom hated not owning her own home, she hated being at the whims of a landlord. We grew to accept and even love our new place, though. When my mom invited her parents over for the first time at Christmas, they left after thirty minutes and said that they didn’t like being at our house, it was trash. My mom went to her room and sobbed.

I guess class matters.