Some aunts, uncles and cousins in this photo with us.
I know how to live poor. I know how to live poor and be happy. No, I’m not poor, but I was raised poor. Let me explain.
My parents had twelve children—a dozen—but I don’t know about cheaper by the dozen. All biological, all healthy, all twelve. Five girls and seven boys. My twin brother and I were numbers eight and nine.
My family lived in California when I was born, and there Dad worked in the timber cutting Redwoods. He served in the military, then we moved south and he started farming. We lived in a small community where the older children hoed and picked cotton on land Dad rented to farm, and they also hired out to other farmers to work in the fields. For two years the family worked at truck-patching on an island in the Mississippi…
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