4. Another Co-Worker; Or: A Pathology of Poverty

The poor, or maybe I should say those speaking on their behalves, deny the existence of a pathology of poverty. Maybe it’s the word pathological. But question is: Is there something, something genetic that dooms people poverty? Or maybe that isn’t the question. Maybe the question is more whether poverty makes one crazy-nuts. (Notwithstanding that it’s certainly a healthy state to live in.)

Look:

We employ a file clerk. He is quite slow-witted but.... He has a son who, of course, lives with the mother. The boy is thirteen and, like the father, has a very sweet disposition. And is brighter than the dad (not that that is difficult).

When the clerk brings the son to the office, you can see a wonderful bond, the father’s love for his son is clear.

And then one recent Friday, the clerk doesn’t show up.

Because the boy had just been busted. For stabbing a kid like half his size with a pocket knife, in school. (You know, a New York City public school. They were once famed for the high academic qualities. Now it’s known for it’s metal detectors. Not that it worked this time. But we won’t address the quality, shall we say, of the foot soldiers in the modern security industry.)

At risk of addressing the obvious, how does this happen? Massive genetic (inbred) stupidity? Cultural lack of sense? (I mean what could this kid have done to warrant getting stabbed?)

Or a pathology of poverty?