I grew up in a blue-collar neighborhood full of tract homes—inexpensive crackerbox houses built to attract young couples who were just beginning their families. The neighborhood was teeming with children whose parents were poor and nomadic, renting the cheap houses for only a short time. Our neighborhood was a revolving door, with vagabond families moving in and out regularly.
Their children freely roamed neighborhood streets and were drawn to our home like iron shavings to a magnet, showing up in our front yard seemingly from nowhere and typically around mealtime. They joined my brothers and me in whatever
