When Annette and I were newly married and in school, money was tight, but we were never truly on our own.
From 1990 through 1994, while Annette and I were living close enough to make it practical, my parents gave us a portion of a beef each year as part of their Christmas tradition. For us, that meant packages of frozen meat that went directly into our freezer and straight into our meal planning.
We usually picked it up around Thanksgiving or Christmas. We did not have a stand-alone freezer, just the freezer attached to our refrigerator, so space was limited, and every package had a place. To get the meat from Wyoming to Utah, we lined the trunk of our car with heavy blankets, loaded the frozen packages, and wrapped everything tightly to create a makeshift cooler for the four-hour drive. It was not elegant, but it worked.
This was simply how my parents operated. They had extra, and they shared it. There was no conversation about money and no commentary about our situation. We accepted it, used it, and moved on. At the time, it felt ordinary.
One year, while we were living in our apartment in Orem, Aunt Geneal and Uncle A.C. offered us some elk meat. Uncle A.C. liked to hunt elk, and with just the two of them, they had more than they needed. Aunt Geneal asked if we would be interested, knowing we were newly married and money was tight. We were happy to accept.
Again, it was not awkward or charitable. They had extra. That is what families do.
At the time, Annette and I did not think much about any of this. We planned our budget. We shopped carefully. We lived within our limits. The meat did not change our discipline or our decisions. It simply made some weeks easier.
Only later did I realize how formative that quiet generosity was. It did not remove responsibility or soften our discipline. It simply showed us what it looks like when family helps without making a point of it. Over time, I also learned that not every family operates this way.
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