Mother’s Son
It was late in the afternoon when a knock was heard at the door. My brother and I ran to the kitchen to hide, afraid of who might be outside the house trying to get in. My mother walked proudly to the door as we watched, and my father was in the next room. When opened, two men in uniforms bearing golden badges begin to speak to Mother. She nodded, and they walked into the house. They looked around and acknowledged my brother and me with smiles as we stayed hidden. Stumbling, my father walked into the living room to ask my mother who was at the door, but as he entered his expression changed, and the smiles left the two officers. He was grabbed, and I frightfully ran into his arms. His breath reeked of alcohol, but with such worry; I didn’t mind. Yelling began to fill the house, and Mother pulled me away protectively, and then she sat my brother and me on the couch. Soon my father was gone, and the commotion had settled. Mother, broken and crying, calmed my brother and me; she consoled us with her hold and would from then on keep us in her hold.
Only seeing my father after school for rides home, I grew closer to Mother. During my childhood, Mother’s and I would be together, and through that time I observed and eventually reflected my Mother personality. She is a blunt, opinionated, and proud woman who will not stand to be kicked around. In everything, she was right and when she wasn’t, she still was. Nothing ever got in the way of protecting her family. If anything or anyone ever got in the way of her or her kids, the mountains would shake in dread. During occasions when my brother and I were in need, she would quickly lose the brick house facade and become the warm woman I knew that she was. Mother knew best, and I...
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...very piece of wisdom she gave to me was given in love. She would not withhold anything embarrassing to protect her image. Honesty was always given to teach us no matter how it made her look, however; she would often give advice that I knew was wrong. She loves me and wants the best for me, but she does not look at what God says is true and right. In all things she did, she did in love, and I know it was.
Mother is a woman whom I respect. She has raised me, taught me, and helped me grow. Through her strength she cared for me, through her opinionated attitude she helped me learn to stand for what is right, and through her wisdom she helped me become who I am. I learned from her and became just like her in many ways. Even though I may draw my strength from God, have different opinions, and know where to look for truth she, and I are a lot alike; I am my mother’s son.
A mother is someone that would risk a speeding ticket to get her child to a hospital. A mother is someone that cooks for her family delicious food. A mother is someone that loves her children, even when they disrespect her. A mother is someone who risks all she has for her children. A mother is a HERO! The qualities of a hero are being intelligent, caring, and courageous. Two heroes that display these aspects are Odysseus from the epic The Odyssey and a modern mother. Odysseus, a soldier and a leader, on his journey back from the war of Troy, let the Cyclopes eat his men. In contrast, a modern mom saves her children by rushing to the hospital to save them.
I. Intro. - Imagine you are sitting home one night with nothing to do. Your parents have gone away for the weekend and there is absolutely no one around. So you sit around that night watching TV for awhile but find nothing on worth watching. You go on upstairs to your room and get ready for bed. Turn off the lights, lay down, and close your eyes. All of a sudden you here a crash of glass in your kitchen. You rush to your feet and put your ear to the door listening to what’s going on downstairs. You begin to hear the voice of two men as they start going through the living room, making their way to the stairs, right outside your room. What do you do? You aren’t going to confront them since its just you—remember you thought you heard two of them right? Well you are really stuck in your room and all you can do is sit there hoping that they leave soon and don’t harm you. Now if it were at my house things would be a little bit different. For starters I would get out my shotgun from my closet and begin to see what is gin on down stairs.
Soon thereafter my parents split up and I could feel their discord; like vibrations of hate upon snapping wires. They seemed to become somehow physically incapable of co-habiting the same spaces. It was as if something physiological that was once inside them was taken from them. Stolen was that strange organ that makes people feel the sincere need to be near someone else. As I grew older I began to observe my mother and her bizarre behaviors. Her anxious isolations and her pill bottle like a Xanax Barbie stuck to her hand. She was always so far away from me. I would sit and wonder where she would go; off to some corner of her mind where up was down and all the wrong in life was right. She was safe behind a closed door; in silence and stillness. I was always alone; and always lonely, with my mother in the next room. She may as well have been a million miles away from me. The older I got the colder the hugs became; it was like she was tired of faking it.
Even though I do not have testimony about what a mother’s love for her children really is about, I do know that their love for their children is immense through the love my mother has shown me through out my lifetime. Our mothers have played an important part in our lives. They taught us our first words, how to read, how to tie our shoes and many more. Not only do they teach us some of the basic things that are nessacary
Throughout my life my mom has always been selfless and generous- especially when it came to her children and grandchildren… ever putting her self last! SHE WAS MY EVERYTHING… Unlike my sister, I was the one that gave my parents their grey hair… It took me longer than most to mature, and the truth is- that’s putting it mildly. Yet through all the ups and downs, and all the times I would end up disappointing her expectations of me, one thing NEVER
When most girls write about their mothers they talk about how wonderful of a childhood they had being raised by such a great woman. They talk about her accomplishments and how they want to grow up and be just like her. They talk about the soup sick babble that every "perfect" family has to offer. When I write about my mother, I speak of the pain, the fears, the learning and the salvation. My Mother has been a great inspiration to me. She is my hero. Not because of the wonderful things she has done. Not because of the marvelous childhood I was given and certainly not because of her upbringing. My Mother is my hero because she was led down a path of destruction, but with God's grace and mercy she was pulled from her perils; and blessed.
She’s one of those old souls stuck in the fifty’s and refuses to see the 21st century. She is a good mother, it 's only when it came to me she lacked. I met my mother when I was four. She adopted my little sis and me. Through my younger age I hated her I absolutely hated her and she failed to understand why or explain to me so I could understand whom the lady was that I was staying with. Where my real mother was. She failed to help me see what was going on and with me only being four I thought she kidnapped me and I hated her. As I grew up I learned precisely what was going on and I no longer had a heart for her it dwindled down to more of a dislike. I understood why was with her, but I expended most of my early youth wondering why did this have to happen to me. And why did I have to be with her. My mother wasn’t a bad mother she only lacked the nurturing a love I needed. She held my early years against me and we’ve been stepping on thin ice ever
Whenever someone mentions the word “mother”, one always tend to think of a very kind and caring figure who always whishes the best for her children. In the poem “Mother to Son” by Langston Huges, a mother is telling her son about the obstacles she had to overcome in order to get to the position she is in right now. There comes many moments in our life when we just want to give up and let fate handle everything. We face many difficulties that may not seem we can overcome but we should never give up right away. The mother in the poem is trying to convince her son to keep pushing and at the same time she is trying to set an example though her own past experience.
In all that we have read, I have expanded my knowledge about the mother/daughter relationship into realms that I never knew existed. Considering my close relationship with my mother, I was unaware that other relationships like mine existed and that relationships so different from mine were possible. I have enjoyed to opportunity to research into the lives and minds of so many scholars. Viewing these relationships from other perspectives, other cultures and other races has shown me what a mother means to different people with different experiences. The only thing that remains central is the idea that mothers and daughters should nurture each other, comfort each other and, most importantly, learn and grow with each other.
My mother had it rough growing up. Forced to be out of the house nearly by dawn and only to return by nightfall, she was ignored and turned away by her mother. All throughout her childhood, and most of her young adult life until she ran away, my mother was pushed onto other family members. When my grandmother ran out of family members, she would leave my mom with foster parents for months of a time. She wasn’t a bad kid; she didn’t misbehave. She just wanted someone to want her around, someone to love her. Regrettably, the reason my grandmother went to such lengths to get rid of her own daughter, was for a man. Moreover, it wasn’t just one man it was every man. When grandmother was single mom was allowed in the house and was treated quite nicely, as a daughter should be treated by her mother. However, it was sayonara for my mom when grandmother was seeing a man. Given her upbringing, my mother always swore that we, my sister and I, were the most important things in her life and we always came first. If I could trust anything, I could trust this.
When I was younger, my father wasn’t around most of the time and when he was there he was always arguing. Being the age I was, it was futile to attempt help my mother. My brother and I scrutinized, and that’s really all children who live through this can do. Though all of this pain was being inflicted upon us, I still loved my father a great deal and didn’t fully understand the situation, but my mindset had changed to one of great fear when I was about 7. I was in the backseat with my younger brother when an argument had broken out between my parents. I don’t exactly remember why they had started arguing, but this time was different than others. It all happened so quickly that it’s a blur, the part I remember as clear as day is when my mother
Motherly love revolved around me all my life. Having my mom care and love me everyday for eighteen years was terrific. There was one thing that put an end to that, college. College was something I had no plans on. Pursuing school for another four years was the least of my worries because I wasn’t going! Life in Ohio was perfect enough to reside in with family at my fingertips. The love that was provided all my life really showed when I left home. Accepting her child would be gone for years wasn’t easy. For her it was a tough ordeal, but for me it was a new journey in beginning my own
Years ago, there was a very wealthy man who, with his devoted son, shared a passion for art collecting. Together they traveled around the world, adding only the finest art treasures to their collection. Priceless works by Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet and many others adorned the walls of the family estate.
It 's ludicrously ironic now, but as child her logic made perfect sense, and I reasoned myself out of blaming her. She was right. I was wrong. She only mocked me subjected me to strange accusations and verbal cruelty, and we had always done something, anything wrong. After years of constant uncertainty, belittling, and the mounting awareness that my mother was losing her grip on ordinary behavior, I was beginning to realize that I had been afraid. Without a trusted adult telling me in a multitude of ways that everything I did was suspect and somehow bad, I regained a shred of emotional security. I fully realize how strange it is that it took me so long to realize this was a form of abuse, but anything can seem normal when you don 't know anything different. It 's now clear why I looked forward so passionately to overnight visits with friends, and why watching them interact with their mothers, easily, lovingly, and unafraid, made me feel so cold and so perplexing ly angry. I was jealous of any parent-child relationship that wasn 't rooted in fear and uncertainty. On my darker days, I still feel that twinge of envy. Today I speak to my mother only sometimes, and never in any great depth. There 's nothing below the surface that would be pleasant to
...mportant person in my life and I know that she will be always there for me with help, her love, and her care. She’s a wonderful person, she admires the beauty of life, and as a result she is always in a good mood. Now, like my mother, I’m a positive thinker, and I am a creative person who believes life is what you create it to be. I also know if I have to make any big decisions in my life, I can always ask my mom for advice because she has the wisdom and experience. I also know that she will tell me the truth even if it is not something that I want to hear, but she will tell me with kindness and without any judgment. My mother is my role model because she does so much for me; she gives me everything she has just to make my life easier. I love my mother and I am so thankful that she is the way she is. My mother is always there for me and I would do anything for her.