Though I told myself that I was not fearful of this side of town, I was at the very least skittish. I was uncomfortable with their lifestyles, their decisions, and, as our social worker Erin had put it, the craziness of it all. Why couldn’t they just stay in school, get jobs, pay the bills, and say no to drugs? My white privilege taught me that these were simple, universal choices equally afforded to all Americans. But as I pieced together the tenuous details of their personal stories, one fact grew clear: few had chosen poverty, any more than I chose my advantages. Families like the Suttons
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