I grew up very poor.

Before long, I realized she was teaching me more than just cooking skills. She taught me how to be patient with people, how to share a meal, and how to take pride in something done well. I started noticing that my confidence grew whenever I stirred a pot and smelled something delicious that I had made with my own hands.

One day, after we finished baking some biscuits, Ms. Allen asked me, “Where do you see yourself when you’re older?” I hesitated. Nobody had ever really asked me that question so directly. “I’m not sure,” I mumbled. “Somewhere, I guess.”

She wiped her flour-covered hands on a dish towel and said, “You’re allowed to dream bigger than ‘somewhere.’ You know that, right?”

I shrugged. “It’s hard to dream big when you can barely afford dinner most days. People in my situation don’t usually get to choose.”

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