Hey there, today's episode is hosted by the poet Dianelli Antigua.

Enjoy, and I'll be back on June 22nd.

I'm Dianelli Antigua, and this is The Slowdown.

Thank you. Antiqua, and this is the slowdown. As a child, no one ever had to tell me that I came from a low-income family.

I just knew.

I knew every year when the donated box of toys arrived on our

doorstep during the holiday season. I looked forward to that box, even though it meant someone,

somewhere, had to first witness how little we had. A part of me felt ashamed.

Then another part felt something closer to relief.

I didn't know what it meant to live with more,

though I knew what it meant to live with less.

To me, the good life was this,

knowing my mother would go through the donated box of new toys

and separate what she thought was meant for each of us kids.

I never watched her do it, but I imagined her holding each toy for a moment before deciding.

For my brother, a harmonica.

For one sister, a Barbie doll.

For my other sister, an arts and crafts box filled with yarn and bright beads.

And one year there was a yellow Walkman waiting for me. I can still feel the weight of it in my palm.

It's gray buttons, the yellow headphones.

I tune into the FM radio and sing along to Mariah Carey or boys to men.

For me, my mother had chosen the gift of my own little voice. Maybe she knew

...