Growing up poor
Growing Up Poor: A Personal Story You hear a lot about white privilege these days. I’ve never believed in such a thing. I don’t believe it exists. My family was poor during my childhood. My dad had a job in my memories, but he also drank up most of his earnings at the bar, and sometimes he didn’t come home for days at a time. My mom did most of the work when it came to raising us kids. There was myself and my five younger brothers. Needless to say, we were on welfare and food stamps. Our house was always a mess, and we were always wondering where our next meal was going to come from. Mom would frequent all the church emergency food banks and go stand in line for the free government cheese when it was available. The food we got from the food stamps was never enough for six boys. Sometimes relatives would drop off food for us, I remember being so hungry at times I would pray for a relative to bring us some food. That’s a terrible feeling. None of us had a