For the time I was in Welch, West Virginia, my family was in severe poverty. Welch was one of the last places we ended up (before we all moved to New York). Our father told us that we moved so much to escape the “FBI”; it was more of an adventure than admitting we were running from bill collectors. I lived in Welch the longest out of all of the many places I had moved. It was a horrid little place, with people who urged to fight and seasons that were difficult to get through. My life was riddled with hardships, but the one that rises above all the others, even today, was my period of poverty in Welch, and how we were bullied, starving, and cold.
Due to my poverty, everyone felt inclined to do battle with our family. In the school I attended
Our pot bellied stove sent all the heat to the roof; since the house didn’t have any insulation, we were left with the little wisps of warmth that didn’t go to the roof (Walls 176). Because of this, Brian and I followed the coal truck, which delivered coal to paying citizens, and we picked up stray bits that bounced off; we salvaged them for the stove at home (Walls 175). Although we collected this coal, it was never enough for the entire winter. Our parents always told us that the cold would keep the germs away; it must have had some truth because we never got sick (Walls 177). Then again, if we got sick, we’d never tell our parents because that meant staying in the cold house instead of a nice and warm classroom (Walls 177). When we got too dirty, we went to the Laundromat to wash our clothes, and we spent ages in the comforting heat (Walls 178). When my older sister, Lori, wanted to begin a fire for us one day, she accidentally used too much kerosene (Walls 179). It exploded, and her coat was thrown back, leaving her legs free for the burning (Walls 179). She’d had blisters that burst open and painful open sores due to the bursting for weeks (Walls 179). Everyone on our street was poor and cold, with us being extremely