“They’re just not good people.”
“But why?” I asked at age six not fully understanding who my father was talking about. I knew he was talking about his part of the family, but I didn’t think he was talking about everyone. It was just too general, too vague, too unattached. But that’s what I was told. When I wanted to know more about the family who only spoke Spanish and lived in another country, I was told they weren’t good people. So I just stopped asking. I stopped looking for answers from those who should have been the most informed and just accepted their belief. I blindly accepted the opinion held by one who I later learned had low opinions of everyone. As I got older, I became more and more detached from my father. I would never talk
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I was taught the value of food by going to farms and milking cows. I learned how nothing is wasted. I saw traditions through own eyes and experienced them for myself instead of hearing vague stories that never seemed to be finished from getting choked up on nostalgia. I couldn’t help but feel guilty for thinking of them differently without having met them. They treated more like a daughter than my dad ever has. They made me feel included and loved. They’re everything I always imagined a family to be …show more content…
Through my own experience, I was proven wrong. They showed me how wrong I was and I am grateful to them for that. I’m grateful for the love and kindness and culture they introduced to me. I’m glad they made me think for myself and carry my own opinion. I arrived with a predetermined expectation that was set so negatively by someone I could hardly care for. I left with a heavy heart as I held back tears when saying goodbye. An entire group of people that didn’t know me and didn’t have to treat me in any special left me feeling hopeful of everything else I had been taught to
Everything for a year had been leading up to this point and here I was in the middle of the happiest place on earth in tears because my friends had abandoned me in the middle of Disney on the senior trip.
Equally, my paternal grandmother taught me about my Italian heritage. She would cook specialties from Sicily and tell me stories of her homeland. Likewise, my grandmother made sure I appreciated Sicilian traditions, superstitions, and the language. I am grateful to both my grandparents for exposing me to their cultures.
From the age of 5 to 11 I was raised by my grandparents. They were a couple who worked hard through Depression Era and maintained that mentality throughout their lives. They were loving, yet hard in the manner that they raised me. In this way they taught me respect, moral ethics, the value of hard work and achievement, the value of education, and ritual and tradition. (TCOXXX)
But since I have lived by myself, my impression of my father has gradually changed. My mother often said my father wanted to meet me and he talked about me very often.
Thanks to the way my parents were raised, living with them is very pleasing. My parents were taught to take good care of their children which I am very thankful for. My grandparents also taught me how to be kind. Their kindness has rubbed off on me and without them, I may not have been as kind as I am now. My grandparents knew how to make many different things from the Russian cuisine and taught me how to do it as well. My grandparents would encourage me to cook with them and from that, I have gained courage to try many other recipes. Now, I know how to cook many different dishes and desserts. Without my grandparents’ teachings, I would not be the person I am
It has been five years since I have spoken to my father. I was three years old when my parents got a divorce. Both my mom and dad remarried, however my dad didn’t waste any time in doing so. After he was married, I felt that I wasn’t a part of his new life. We had our problems like any relationship between children and parents, but most of the problems resulted from interference from his new wife.
My father was emotionally and mentally abusive. He was an alcoholic and drug addict. I was never close to him at all and because of that
I was not able have a conversation with him, because whenever we would talk he would go completely off topic. My father had several drugs prescribed to him which caused him to lose his sense of reality, Because of this it was nearly impossible for us to have a
As such, I would only see my dad only once or twice a day. So I never really developed a solid father-son relationship with him. Not to mention he wasn't even there when I was born because he was studying at America. My mom on the other hand was always there, but she did not have the imagination of a kid or the energy to keep up with me. Still I found ways to have some fun during my childhood years, whether it be playing with toys or watching television.
My family had a big role in teaching me things that would benefit me in life. My mom would always teach me the little things in life shouldn’t get to me and I should always think outside the box. My dad in the other hand, taught me to be understanding and wise towards people, because that would make me a better person. Both of my sisters gave me an understanding on how to treat women with respect, and the right and wrong things to do in life situations. My little brother is what I used as motivation towards being really successful and showing him the right things to do in life and make sure he looked up as somebody who he wanted to be like.
When I initially began this project, I figured it’d be pretty easy, perhaps even a little dull, because honestly I think my family is pretty amazing. The experiences I had growing up felt normal, but as I have gotten older, had more life experiences, and talked to others, I realize what I had was unique, special, and something I hope to replicate for my own posterity.
My father had a prime role in my life; he was my savior, my protector, my friend but most importantly my ultimate caretaker. He was the biggest role model of my sixteen years of life however I found it difficult to be close to my father as I became older and would normally go to my mother. I looked up to my father as if he was a hero that you’d see in a comic, saving the good from evil, protecting his own blood from the cruel world. If something wasn’t right, he would make sure he could do his best to fix it. He was such a hard worker trying to please everyone who came his way, until he got home and pressed the red button switch on and that was his off switch and his cue to sit and do nothing until he fell asleep.
Loving each other is what our family believed in. We only had one back bone within our family and it was Mrs. Annie Mae. She kept us together during the hardest times. Each holiday, the holiday spirit flooded the house with pure happiness and joy. The sound of various categories of music was interesting, and made everyone so happy. Our taste buds ‘jumped off the walls’ because of all the delicious foods and deserts she hand prepared. Happiness and joy is what my great grandmother was all
These kids were just kids to me, and as we grew up, they were just people. I would say that my first encounter with someone different from me and what my mom told me did leave me with the engrained idea that I didn’t need understand someone’s situation perfectly, and my imperfect understanding didn’t give me license to ask probing questions. All I had to do was treat everyone I met, no matter where they came from, what they looked like or what language they spoke,
People dont change; we just learn more about who they want to be. I was 11; It was the ending of fall, beginning of winter. My brother was five was at the time and we lived here in small town Cresco. We lived a normal family life. My mom worked at Donaldsons at night and my dad was working at McNeilious. I took care of my brother alot, had to watch, play, and be with him alot. We grew close when we were young. My dad would get home at 5:30 every night and we would have supper. Things were good. Although at night I would hear my parents fight about money, that all my mom cared about. She didnt care for anything else. It came to November 2nd, 2011 my moms birthday. I was making pancakes for her and she was in the shower and getting ready for