When I was about 10–11 years old my friend Meghan invited me to stay for dinner at her house. While my family wasn't poor, Meghan's family was definitely more well-off.

I called my parents to ask permission and my dad said it was ok to have dinner at my friend's house, but he was making a roast, so I'd be missing out on a great meal. My dad was a great cook. When I found out Meghan's mom was also making a roast, I thought it was a funny coincidence and told her my dad was making a roast too. She told me I was lying because we couldn't afford roast and men don't cook. I was taught not to talk back to or correct adults, so I just turned away and went back to playing with their dog.

A couple minutes before dinner, I went to wash my hands and came back and everyone was seated in their chairs at the dinner table with china, silverware and glasses. They had a place setting for me with a paper plate, plastic utensils and a stool at an awkward corner of the table. They had more chairs and more dishes and silverware, but chose to treat me worse than themselves. I was raised to always give guests the best of what I had, so I felt especially bad sitting there on a hard stool eating with my paper and plastic while everyone else had dishes and silverware.

When dinner ended, the house rule was that everyone had to put their dishes in the dishwasher. Well, I didn't have dishes, so I threw my paper plate and plastic utensils away. Then they served dessert. But not to me. The house rule is that you only got dessert if you put your dishes in the dishwasher. I didn't even have dishes, which I would have preferred and would have happily put everyone's dishes in the dishwasher.

By the time my parents came to get me, I was on the verge of tears. I felt like I was being punished when I did nothing wrong. I later found out that other friends had the same experience when having dinner there, so it wasn't because I was rude or misbehaved. It was because they were jerks.