I was fifteen when I first came to the Tenderloin District of San Francisco. Coming from a relatively sheltered background, the things I saw in that first day was a massive shift from the definition I had previously used to describe American poverty. I grew up in a stable, safe home with two parents who loved me. It was shocking to me that just a couple of blocks marked the divide between what seemed to me like two different worlds. The first was shining in its middle class splendor, much like what I had known growing up. The other, however, was a place of sidewalks littered with heroine needles and blank stares. Continue reading “My Day with Paul”
The Richter Center Student Leaders 
