Perfect Parents: A Glimpse into the Realities of Poverty

Growing up in rural Appalachia during the 1990s and 2000s taught me early on that there are no perfect parents—only imperfect souls trying to survive. My mother, coming from a lineage where education was secondary and survival took precedence, managed to push past the limitations of her environment by reaching the tenth grade. Yet, the challenges she faced went far beyond the classroom.

Diagnosed with schizophrenia at a young age, my mother’s life was an ongoing battle against mental illness, compounded by the grip of drugs and alcohol. With no real support system, her struggles inevitably affected every facet of our lives. As a teenager, I witnessed firsthand the profound impact of poverty—a world where every loss was magnified, and every mistake felt like a lifelong sentence.

One summer day, a rare family outing for school shopping became a microcosm of our reality. Determined to prove her capability, my mother had carefully saved her monthly SSI checks for this special trip. Keep in mind there were six of us boys so we did not have a lot of funds available. I, finding solace in the idea of self-improvement through weightlifting, splurged a good amount of my budget on a pair of gloves—a small, tangible symbol of my desire for strength and control over a life marked by instability.

However, as I sat in the car afterward, I discovered that one glove was missing. In that moment, the loss wasn’t just about an inanimate object; it was a stark reminder of the unforgiving nature of poverty, where every slip-up leaves an indelible mark on your sense of worth. When you grow up in poverty, loss is never just loss. It carries a weight beyond the thing itself. It reminds you of what little you have, of how few chances you get. There is no room for carelessness, no space for mistakes. One wrong move, one moment of not paying attention, and something is gone forever. My mind immediately went to the worst places.

Of course this happened to me. It wouldn’t have happened to anyone else.

Of course I wasted my money. I should have known better than to buy something I actually wanted.

I didn’t deserve nice things.

Poverty teaches you to see the world in extremes. It is either all or nothing, success or failure, win or lose. There is no in-between, no second chances, no way to fix what is broken. You either get it right the first time, or you are left with nothing.

Yet, amid the despair, an unexpected act of kindness emerged. My mother’s boyfriend, one of mine and my brothers’ four fathers, calmly offered, “I’ll go back inside and get you another pair.” This simple gesture, in a life where nothing is ever easily replaced, resonated deeply with me. It was a fleeting but profound reminder that compassion can sometimes break through even the harshest realities.

While perfect parents may be a myth, these small moments of care and unexpected kindness can illuminate the darkest paths, offering a glimmer of hope and a reminder that even in a world of scarcity, humanity endures.

In Jesus’ name,