Gas station ice cream

By Jae-Ha Kim
jaehakim.com
March 15, 2013

A long time ago, a friend asked me why I shook my bottle of milk before I poured it. I said what my father had always told me (or what I thought he had told me) — that shaking it distributed the vitamins evenly. The person laughed and said, “No, it doesn’t.” I didn’t give it much thought until recently. I realized that the reason I shook my milk was because when we first immigrated to the United States, we drank powdered milk.

I didn’t think that was strange. Just like I didn’t think anything of it when my sister used just one egg, a few spoonfuls of milk and some water to make French toast for our family of five. Or when she watered down our mustard to make it last longer. (Mustard! Even back then, it was a cheap condiment, but that’s how frugal we were.) I didn’t know that my mother bought our weekly half gallon of ice cream from a gas station, instead of the super market, because they carried an off brand.

I didn’t grow up thinking that we were poor, even though we probably were at that time. Like many immigrants, my parents were conscientious about saving money. But, we never wanted for any of the important things. We ate plenty of healthy and delicious food. We lived in a safe, warm apartment (and later house). And we had a piano. How my parents managed to pay for a brand new piano back then still amazes me. It was a luxury that they believed was a necessity.

Though my parents could’ve saved money on clothes by purchasing them at a thrift store, my mother refused. It wasn’t because she thought she was too good to shop there. Rather, she didn’t want people thinking we weren’t good enough, and she didn’t want to give our classmates another reason to see us as different.

Growing up, we kids didn’t ask for much. I had two dolls and a Barbie. Actually, she wasn’t even a Barbie, but rather her red-headed friend, Stacey. My sister — who’s older than I am — had none. I didn’t get my first stuffed animal until I was about 10, and then only after my parents had accumulated enough S&H Green Stamps to acquire it. For those too young to remember, some gas stations used to give away these promotional items each time you made a purchase. (Maybe that’s another reason my parents bought our ice cream there.)

I still have that bear. My son accidentally bit off its nose when he was a baby. Still, I don’t see myself ever throwing away that deformed teddy bear. (I know what you’re thinking. But I’m the anti-hoarder.)

When I was a kid, it used to bother me that my mother always bought generic toilet paper. It felt coarse, but it was cheap and she just didn’t see the value in paying more for something that literally would be flushed down the toilet.

Flash forward to my early days as a married woman. My husband watched as I added the last remnants of (name brand) toilet paper onto a new roll. He asked if I could stop doing that, because the shredded bits and pieces looked like something a hamster had played with and discarded.

I could’ve, but I didn’t. The last bits of TP were still usable. Why waste it?

© 2013 JAE-HA KIM | All Rights Reserved

4 thoughts on “Gas station ice cream”

  1. Yes, we never felt poor. We were so well provided for. We had all the security that children needed. Even when we were using cardboard boxes as our dressers I always knew that was temporary.

    Yet immigrant characteristics are embedded in me. One of the many things are clothes. I always wore hand me down clothes ever since I was a child then as an adult. When some one asked me what size I wore I did not know. I would say … Oh anywhere between size 4 to size 12. I would just alter until the item fit me. I just found out I was size 2.

  2. I grew up with Korean immigrant parents too but all the scrimping and saving had the opposite effect on me. I buy super soft Charmin toilet paper and I replace kitchen sponges often (my mom would use them until they literally fell apart). I am to this day awful about saving money.

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