I know I can’t possibly be the only one in this situation, but sometimes, when I walk into my classroom and see the clothes the other guys are wearing, their toys, their knapsacks, it feels like I might as well be. When they talk about ordering pizza on Motzaei Shabbos, or the winter vacation they’re taking, or what they got for Chanukah, it really does feel like I’m the only kid on Earth with a family that’s poor. And please don’t tell me that I don’t know what it’s like to be poor and that I’m exaggerating. I’m not. We’ve gone for days at a time with only bread, cheese, and some wilted vegetables my mother picks up at the end of the day when the stores are closing. We’ve had our electricity cut off. Repeatedly. All of my clothes are hand-me-downs – every single shirt and every single pair of pants.

I hate being poor. I hate not getting new stuff. I hate comparing myself to my friends who seem to have it all, and I hate that I seem so different. But most of all, I hate the tension in my house, how worried my parents are, and how the sounds of laughter and playing have disappeared from my house without leaving a hint that they were ever there.

There’s one more thing. A secret that lurks somewhere deep inside my chest and tries to take bites out of my heart. I’d never tell my parents. But you don’t know who I am, so I’ll tell you.

I’m almost 12 1/2 years old.

Don’t you get it?

My bar mitzvah is in just over six months.

Never mind my friends who celebrate in beautiful halls with fancy food and expensive bentshers, who have live music and catering and awesome dessert tables. Forget all that. Not only am I worried I won’t even have a party, but please, tell me, how can parents who can’t pay for electricity buy their son tefillin?

And you know what, scratch what I said before. I do want my bar mitzvah to be in a beautiful hall with fancy food, expensive bentshers, live music, catering, and awesome dessert tables! Really, I’m never going to have another bar mitzvah! And how will I face my friends? What will they think of me and of my family? They know we don’t have money, but it’s worse, so much worse, than they think it is. My stomach hurts, and my shoulders feel tight. Then my bedroom starts feeling stuffy and small and like it’s closing in on me, making it hard for me to breathe. I stand up, grab my sweater, and yell as I zoom down the stairs, “Going to ride my bike!”

My bike. What a joke. Haven’t been able to ride it in over a year. Anyone got a spare tire to donate to the cause?

Feeling pathetic, I head outside, and with my eyes on the sidewalk, I start walking. I don’t have any destination in mind, but walking outside in the clear, crisp, late afternoon air is better than sitting in my room thinking dark thoughts.

(Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 748)