David McIntosh Jr.

“David, why do you never bring a car to work?“

I was 17 years old.

It was the first time in my adult life I was asked a question that really signified a feeling of a “lack of“ and it created a peril that would hold me back.

I had finished high-school and I joined a local family owned accountancy firm as an Apprentice Accountant.

I had to call the boss “Mr. Bell“, take him coffee on breaks and wash up the office dishes.

This wasn't part of the job description but I was happy to have a job that had more prestige than my paper round.

They treated me to the minimum apprentice wage - a lavish £3.87 per hour.

I spent wages on digs, contributing to my unemployed household and the fortnightly driving lesson.

I saved enough to afford a driving test.

The next week the boss came in and yelled.

“I gave you a day off for your driving test. Now, you don't bring a car in and it doesn’t look good for clients.“

I gazed at the family pack of BMW's they had outside.

Full of embarrassment I told him - “I failed my test“.

I passed my test.

This was easier than admitting that my parents couldn't buy me a car to match their 1-5 series that lined the car park in descending size order like dissembled Russian dolls.

My Dad had an old Ford C-Max people carrier that was a hand-me-down from an uncle. (We had the special edition that came with the smell of smoke, a dent on the side and a tow bar that had transported a caravan around Scotland.)

A car that I couldn't even afford the insurance on never mind muster up the courage to align aside their German automotive collection.

Mr Bell tutted at me.

He told me he couldn't give me another day off to resit.

I was delighted.

But as the days passed by it created a sense of inferiority.

And, as the years pass it only grows like a cancer that eats away at me as I transgress social hierarchies.

A sense of “lack of“ that I still sense today.

A constant weigh-up of the haves vs the have-nots.

A constant comparison mechanism that compares side-wards in social groups I traverse.

A constant repaint of identity as i morphe like a chameleon in social situations in order not to expose my background.

A polish of my accent to fit into better spoken crowds.

Why?

I have enough.

I achieved the dreams of 17 year old David.

Multiple 35 under 35s, a mantel piece full of silverware, a podcast with my idols and have met the Queen. I also have the BMW.

Yet every single day I feel bankrupt with “productivity debt“.

The truth?

As we work hard on improving the the “economic“ part of our socioeconomic-background it becomes more difficult to solve for the “socio“ part.

Solving for the economics might mean you step into new arenas with people that you’re not alike.

I encourage you to celebrate your successes and share hardships by connecting with others who have done the same.

Social Mobility isn't about you, or me, it's about us.

#StateSchoolProud

When I got my first salary, I spent all of it..

It was the first time my banking app ever saw £1000 (for a few days)

It was the best money I had ever spent.

I paid for a trip to my Mum to Trump's luxurious Turnberry.

I booked my Dad a trip to Liverpool Football Club.

Reducing my balance to almost £0.

My Mum, before she passed away, used to joke about visiting Turnberry whilst being a stay at home Mum. I spent my bus journey to work filling out (rejected) cleaner job applications. Her lack of purpose made her feel unimportant.

My Dad, a Falklands veteran and guard at Buckingham Palace, was in his late 60's carrying ASDA crates up and down skyrise flats in Ayrshire after a decade of unemployment. We were financially afloat by our benefits system and charities.

I am going to be honest, the real reason I started an Apprenticeship and didn't go to Uni..

It was to give my parent's the luxuries the neighbours had.

To give them moments of respite from their financial anxiety and financial depression.

These symptoms were passed down to my Sister and I.

At 11 years old, someone told me you could be an accountant they make a lot of money.

I wrote my parents Universal Credit applications a few years after that.

I saw how difficult it was for them to complete a soul destroying process to give them enough money to pay rent, afford meagre provisions and put clothes on our back (sometimes).

I promised myself I would do what it took to pay “rent money“ as soon as possible.

Perhaps I could be an accountant?

I knew good grades at school were the gatekeeper to university and ultimately social mobility (helping with rent).

But, in my school, all forms of academic achievement, were regarded by many of my working class peers as the preserve of posh people.
 
I made the decision that university was for a type of people who went to fancy schools, lived in fancy houses, spoke in fancy accents and ate fancy food.

The type of people who could spend their salary on posh hotel visits and premier league football trips.

This hedonism is what drove me to an apprenticeship and to spend my first salary going on trips with my family.

I don't regret it.

But, I want people once like me to know university and opportunity is for them.

Shout out my sister now at University - Freya M.

I want them to speak up to their friends and peers about their upbringing.

The earlier we can encourage young people to speak up the quicker we can give them the support them to embark on a journey of social mobility.

And that's why today, on Social Mobility Awareness Day, KPMG UK are launching a campaign - Opening Doors to Opportunities.

We have committed to giving one million young people the opportunity to develop their skills by 2030.

I am proud of everyone who bestowed the financial pressure to make a life for their family and of everyone sharing who shares their story!

Thank you for the tag Jenny Bull on today's chain, I will tag Neil Coutts, PMP, CISM!