Every time I read a book that deals with intense poverty I am always reminded of how fortunate I am. While I am nowhere near as well as off as most people, compared the McCourts in “Angela’s Ashes”, or the Nolans in “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn” I am rich.
If I am hungry, I can go to the kitchen and make something or run downstairs to Taco Bell and grab a couple tacos. I do not freeze in the winter. My clothes are clean and free from rips or tears. If I don’t feel well I can see a doctor or take some medicine and be fine again. I take all of these things for granted.
When I read books like this, I always take a moment to be grateful for what I have.