When You Are Poor, Playing Ms. Pac-Man Is a Luxury
The resiliency of growing up poor
“That’ll be $23.54,” the clerk says. I look down at my knock-off Ked shoes. I’m 9 years old. My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I wonder if my mom notices my reaction as she pulls out, not dollar bills, but food stamps. I wonder if she’ll be angry with me for being embarrassed.