I was in college making a late-night run to a grocery store near campus collecting the materials necessary for a social gathering that was to be recorded in the archives of history. As we turned into the only open register, I recognized the tired face of a young mother. The cashier was explaining something to her and her husband, and then they shared a heavy sigh. I knew this family. They were not unlike many others that I knew – a classmate who could play little league baseball, but doesn’t. The family you don’t often see in church, except first in line when a free meal is offered. Growing up in rural North Carolina, you know many families such as the young family standing in front of me at the cash register. But it was on this night that I realized this circumstance had a name.