Thankfully, my mom moved in to help. She’s 72, sharp as ever, and the backbone of our home. She braids my daughter’s hair and makes sure the kids eat real meals instead of cereal every morning. Without her, I don’t think I would’ve made it.
I work long days—sometimes 12 hours—fixing engines, changing brake pads, and dealing with frustrated customers. People see my grease-covered hands and assume that’s all I am.
But these hands feed my kids.
And every day, I worry it’s still not enough.
