At the age of seven, I escaped the poverty-stricken neighborhood of Paterson, New Jersey because my parents’ priority was their children’s education. So when we moved to Georgia, I was thankful to have a yard, house, even my own room, but each blessing has a curse. Each day I realized why my mother worked at subway, why my father worked at a warehouse, why my mother had to walk 3 ½ miles every day, to and from work, in hot and cold, why my father grew anxious at the sight of a police, why my family could barely travel anywhere, even Atlanta...they were illegal immigrants. Being an anchor baby, I appreciated all the efforts my parents made, like driving me to school early, tutoring, and providing me with their love and support. Years later with the stricter immigration laws, my father got laid when I was in 10th grade and we soon grew very tight on money. Thankful a year…