My mother’s family was financially stable, but when she graduated from college she became completely financially independent of her parents. She and my father moved to Louisville, Kentucky in a less than desirable neighborhood in order for my father to complete his residency. Although my mother had completed dental hygiene courses, she did not have the time or money to become certified in Kentucky as well as Washington. For this reason, my mother worked in a restaurant and bar from nine at night until six the next morning. Meanwhile, my father was working thirty-six hour shifts with just another thirty-six hours off until his next shift. My father lost all of his savings money in attempts to help out a friend in need and was never paid back, even when my parents had literally no money in the bank. Their house was infested with cockroaches, they slept on the floor, and turned cardboard boxes upside to use as tables. However, in retrospect they both agreed that their time living in the ghetto included some of their fondest memories together. My parent’s history helped develop the person that I would grow into today and the lessons they learned through their trials were embedded in me as a child. I was raised under the belief that material possessions and money certainly make life easier and more comfortable, but also that there was nothing more important than what I could find in my own family.