In them old cotton fields of Arizona

In an earlier blog I talked about how long I have worked in this lifetime. It got me to thinking.

Poverty defined my childhood. I cannot remember a time when we were not on welfare or I and my siblings were not wards of the state living in foster homes.

My father and mother were both alcoholics. Dad seemed to have trouble handling responsibility and Mom I think was just a party girl. Nonetheless we lived a pretty hand to mouth existence.

Mom was a high school drop out with limited job skills. Dad, well Dad, let us just say if three strikes had existed during my childhood he would have died in prison.