When I was a kid, there was a point where we had to go on welfare. My dad had just lost his job. We were dead broke.
Drinking powdered milk was one of my least favorite memories during that time. I’ll never forget the watered down, strange taste it left in my mouth.
My sisters and I wanted real food, and one of the hardest things for my dad to do was to let go of his pride and ask our church for help.… Click to read more