I was one of those people, even if I was just a kid. I got on that bus twice a week, and when I got to that fancy school, I believed that they knew more than me about what it meant to be a hardworking person. How else would they have everything while my mother, my siblings and I had so little? The thing is, that boy, his parents and the other kids at that school, they had no idea what poverty actually looked like. They did not see what I saw. I saw the mothers and fathers on my block wake up every single day and go to work, then come home to not enough food in their bowls. They did not drive fancy cars, and the vehicles they did have broke down often. They sat around card tables playing spades, sharing cheap alcohol, laughing and talking about their next plan for getting the hell out. They took pride in the work they did, though they were never paid enough for that work. But they did their best. I saw it all. And over time, I saw it in my own home. I saw it in my mother.