Growing up, I had the typical poor American experience, clouded in sexism, misogyny, racism, homophobia, patriotism. I started talking to my mother about anarchism when I was 15 after reading a book for "young adults" on it by James D Forman. She wasn't very intelligent but always heart first so when I would be opposed to something she would usually respond, "You should feel that way! I raised you to know the fucking difference between right and wrong!“ By time I was 18 we had moved to the city and had 3 different wooden buildings/sheds in the backyard and an extra room in the house. She had moved an elderly housless fellow into the spare room. He helped us turn the sheds into temporary dwellings for other neighborhood houseless folks. In the four years before the city government shut us down she had helped about 4 dozen people get back on their feet while simultaneously them helping us with maintenance on the house and property, food, and contributing to an overall sense of community. It was also at the start of this time that we had learned to dumpster, together. She would have never called herself an anarchist, but I know damn well she was.