There Are No Children Here – Finding Strength in Poverty Being privileged is something I didn’t understand until I read There Are No Children Here, by Alex Kotlowitz. The truth is, I knew I did it better than the others, but the sheer difference wasn't truly recognized until I met the Lafayette and Pharaoh boys. These kids were introduced to me by Kotlowitz, through his book, and the obvious pain and sadness that these young people went through on a daily basis was more than most privileged people experience in an entire lifetime. This is what it means to be privileged. When I started reading this book, I thought it was going to be another poor-me story about some poor black kids who got cruel treatment. That was my ignorant, privileged life rearing its head. When I went ahead and read the book, I did so in search of a grade, not a new perspective. I got to the fifth page and felt guilty. Again the guilt was selfish, because I had been deceived into believing that the poor were poor because they were lazy. I was forced to believe that I had been debating and debating poverty issues for the past 10 years, only to discover that I was debating out of ignorance. These children were poor by birth, just as I was privileged by birth. By chance, these children would have endured more pain and suffering than I could imagine. The feeling made me close in disbelief that people actually lived like this, in America. So I keep reading and only discover more terrifying stories of death, abuse, filth, pain, poverty and addiction. Lafayette and Pharaoh are two of seven children born to LaJoe Rivers in Chicago, Illinois. They all currently reside at the Henry Horner Homes, resting away from the city, in the middle of a... middle of paper... in an attempt to realize their dreams, dreams of survival. That survival to them, though, will mean more than anything I do in my life. For them to outdo their friends, fight the lifestyle, conquer the schools and beat the streets, it is an achievement not only in academia, but in life. I remember how much my high school graduation ceremony meant to me, and that's why I didn't go. I cared so little about graduation that the ceremony meant nothing. This is a luxury that is not afforded to everyone, and especially to these young people. I have great respect for these kids, because they have fought through unimaginable adversity and will hopefully overcome all the hell that was forced upon them in their youth. I hope to be half as strong at age 70 as I was at nine and twelve. Works Cited: Kotlowitz, Alex. There are no children here. New York: Double Day.1991.