I don't know what it's like to be poor. And it's not that I want to. My parents worked long days and nights to make sure I'd never know what they knew growing up in the rural South. I never had to have a Christmas without presents or go without meals while away at college. I didn't have to sleep on beds made out of hay or cook breakfast for my seven brothers.
Some people walk around as if they have only themselves to thank for their success.
I'll be the first to say I can't really claim any of mine. I was only born into the right family with the right gene pool at the right time. By luck or design, I wasn't born an African Pygmy or an Australian Aborigine, nor the daughter of a Norwegian goatherder. It's overwhelming to think about sometimes, and I think about it quite a bit, but my family suffered for more than four generations in this country so my sisters and I could grow up with central air conditioning and cable TV, so we could blossom in good schools and eat the good parts of the chicken instead of necks and backs. I only eat white meat, when just yesterday in my family, white meat was not what was served on the table.