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Growing up as a kid was very hard and confusing for me. I was always told I needed to like girls and that I had to be a certain way because I was a boy not a girl. I always asked myself, why my parents repeated the same thing over and over again. I never saw another parent telling their son that they needed to be a certain way. It was just me. As I grew up, I began to understand why my parents always worried about how I needed to be because of the way I was born. They always saw something in me that they never understood until two years ago when I finally told them who I was, although I couldn’t explain what I was, or how I was born this way. There is just no answer to why I am the way I am. I am gay, and while I was growing up I always happened
Deep down inside, I have always known my parents are loving parents that will do anything they can to support me to prosper and succeed in life. The only problem is that my parents came from very traditional household that used the authoritarian parenting style, so that is the style they used on me. While growing up with parents using the authoritarian parenting style, I was not exposed to their warmth or nurturing side. Instead, I was taught to respect authority and traditional structure in a demanding, controlling and punitive way. This affected me in a negative way as I was expected to follow strict rules unconditionally with absolute obedience, and my parents rarely gave me choices or options as they had very high expectations of what I should be doing. For example, when I was in junior high, my parents selected all of my courses and I had no control over my school schedule. They told me that they were doing this because they knew what was good for me and what career path I should be going into in the future. However, what they did not understand at that time is that their actions lowered my self-esteem and prevented me to act independently; as a result, I never really learned how to set my own limits and personal standards until I entered my sophomore year in high school.
Parenting may be said as an experiment, because every parent has different views and ways of raising their own children. Parents raise their child in such ways in which they believe is beneficial and healthy for the child. A story that came across media news about a baby, Storm, being raised as “genderless” fueled a controversy in defiance of gender stereotyping. The Witterick family in Canada believed that by acknowledging this practice it would, “tribute to freedom and choice in place of limitation, a standup to what the world could become in Storm’s lifetime” (Davis and James). However, in terms of raising a genderless child, this can cause the child to be unprepared to face the conventional norms or society. This practice may be causing the child a disservice.
I was raised by my mother and grandmother. They kept my head leveled and taught me that working hard leads to success. I loved them, and they were my role models. I grew up in a middle class family with strong women. I learned independence, and the strong will to never give up. It was the summer of 2005 when my mother re-married, and I was in the eighth grade. My mother was happy because she found the conclusion to her life: a husband. I was ecstatic because I finally had a daddy! My hopes, wishes, and dreams had come true. I felt that God answered my prayers. I loved having a father figure, although I had certain doubts. My uncertainty came from the way he looked at me. He looked at me the way men crave women. However, I concealed my unclear feelings because I did not want to ruin the current circumstances. Unfortunately, all of my suspicions were true.
Without knowing it, parents teach their kids about gender simply picking colors out for them. Even at birth society greets a newborn boy or girl with either blue or pink respectively, and as children grow up the gendered colors become gendered toys. As Jennifer Goodwin explains in her article “Even Nine-Month-olds Choose Gender-Specific Toys,” that when as young as a nine month old is given a bunch of toys they would choose the toy that was considered gender correct for them, such as a boy and a toy truck and a girl and a doll. The test brought up a concerning question, “So does this mean that boys and girls have an innate preference for certain types of objects?”(88). Meaning are we hardwired to know “gender?” The question suggests doubts on what mankind has believed in forever. Yet the theory has flaws as she states, “Babies…are amazing sponges and learn an awful lot in nine months” (88). Meaning that babies are blank slates, capturing everything their parents do. Without knowing it parents are teaching our youth about gender, such as a mother going to her baby when it’s crying, to even the notice of one parent leaving to go to work. Even when children get older, when they get hurt, they go to their mother, and when they need serious advice they go to their father. When I was younger, around the age of six my father left, making my mother a
I was a somewhat unwanted child, because the culture exalted male children and despised female children. I was my parents’ third daughter. I was also the darkest skinned, another trait that was undesirable in my culture. I cannot forget that my mother was unsatisfied when she had me. When I was at my tender age my told me about her past and why she wanted a son and dissatisfied when I was born. From her upbringing and the cultural praise of male children, she too wanted a son. However, my father was always proud of us even though we were daughters. As a little girl I would go to my father and touch him in order to become light like him, and he told me I was his precious gold. His love and acceptance of everyone inspired me to aim higher. My father doesn’t believe gender determines a person’s intelligence, so he always hoped for the best for his three daughters and son. I realized that my parents’ had different perspectives on their children because of their varying upbringings. Coming to America I...
Instead of asking if the baby has all its toes and is overall healthy, the mother wants to know right away the sex of the baby. With this in mind, they raise them to act the way their gender should. This made me think about how much my culture and family influenced my gender identity. I was raised wearing pink dresses and playing with Barbie dolls. But I also would stray away from my expected gender roles. For a long time, between the ages five and ten I would run around without a shirt on. But then came the point where my parents said that I needed to stop doing that because I am a girl. Girls are expected to behave like civilized ladies. My father does not like when I use profanity and tells me that ladies should not curse. I questioned him by asking why is it that he can tell me how I should act, but I cannot really tell him how to act? He was taken aback by my argument and said that I made a valid point. I challenged the stereotypical views that men force upon
I had lost everything at this point. My schooling was going down hill, my friends were non existent, and my family didn't bother to claim me. My world quickly became a dark Allen Poe poem. Throughout all the turmoil I endured, God must of seen how hard I was clinging on to my faith. A year later I ended up being blessed when my grandparents took me in. I then moved from Pennsylvania to Georgia and you could only imagine the cultural shock. When the initial move in happened it was nothing but chaos. I had been through so much as a child my trust in others was diminished. I didn't care for school or anything around me for that matter. As the years progressed my grandparents reminded me that I am a beautiful young woman who can amount to anything and everything I want to. Throughout my high school career I joined clubs, and improved my grades. I had always been so afraid to join any type of sport. I would sit on the side lines of my brother and sisters games and sit there in awe, wishing it could be me on the field. My 11th grade year i finally muster the courage to try out for lacrosse. I was blessed to become apart of the first ever Locust Grove lacrosse time who ranked #3 in
I liked boys growing up. But I liked girls, too, and nowhere did I see that kind of liking reflected back to me in the models held out by my family, the media, and peers. Indeed, I didn’t have a name for what I was feeling for many, many years. How could I? The culture I lived in was silent. There was no vocabulary for the complex array of emotions that crowded my adolescent awareness. I decided that what I was feeling must not exist.
Growing up was always a challenge for me since I’m the oldest of eight daughters. And with being the oldest comes consequences. While my father was strict, my mother took a unique approach with raising us : She always told us that we would wield influence in the world through the powers of beauty and love if we wanted to. My mother even made her own beauty creams. With me being the oldest, I didn’t have a choice ,but to help my father with his work, because of my high intelligence he forced me to study medical science.
Growing up school wasn’t easy for me either, I tended to be tormented for how reserved I was towards other people and would always keep to myself. It was no different at home, you see my brothers loved to spend time with each other, but would never want to include me, they’d go out of their way to bully, torment, and since my mother was never really home till about midnight occasionally even abuse me. So as you can imagine I grew up isolated with a constantly working mother who was completely oblivious to everything that occurred at home and two brothers who genuinely resented me for it believing it was my fault mother was always gone… There were times when I’d try to read my problems away, but even in my land of books… I’d get to see mothers tucking their children to sleep, rocking their baby to sleep, and sometimes kissing their little boy goodnight; but it never really worked due to the fact that I just happened to remind myself about how I was destined to be the rejected outcast amongst any group I happen to find myself in. At age seven my mother had me sent to a neurologist because she would frequently catch me rocking myself to sleep and insisted something was wrong with
For my entire life I lived in Fresh Meadows, New York in a modest house, with my brother, Jonathan and my parents. From early on, my parents instilled Christianity in me and that was really when I started building my own identity. Except it really was not my identity, it was the identity my parents wanted me to have. However, I was only four years old and really did not know any better. So for most of my life my parents attempted to mold me into the perfect daughter, or at least what they thought that was. Their hopes were shattered when I entered the third grade and a mini rebellion phase kicked in. I stopped doing what my parents wanted; I just tried to do what made me happy. Sadly, that phase didn 't last long. My eight year old self was
Growing up in a strict and reserved environment, I didn’t get the chance to be who I am, but the idea of the type of person I should be was brainwashed into me since I was a child. I was taught to be a woman who washes your husband's feet in order to follow gender roles. I was told as a woman, you must act modestly and learn to please everyone or you will be judged by others. The way your life should be arranged
Our parents work hard to get us where we are today. Due to the fact that my parents had lack of education and there English wasn 't that good they wasn’t able to get a job that was more relaxing. Though they work in company only they were able to earn enough to raise all of us. Through nurture, now that I’m older I don’t exactly see all the struggles that my parent had gone through to raise me, but I do see and understand more about the struggles. Their love for us, nothing can compare to it. Seeing what my parents had gone through and how hard they have work inspired me to work hard, go to school get a good job so in the future they can depend on me and just rest.
Up until March 5th of 2009, I had been an only child. Many big changes occurred in my life the year prior to the birth of my new brother. My mom became remarried, we moved to a bigger house down the same street, and there was talk of a new baby in the future. The remarriage was a small celebration held at a quaint location on a chilly fall night, a night you would rather be snuggled up on the couch with warm, fuzzy blankets drinking from a mug of hot cocoa. The move was a breeze, as I can just about see the old house through the tall maple trees from the new. I carried whatever I could back and forth, running quickly back down the street to grab more. The excitement of a new house chasing me to and from. Lastly, the talk of a sibling. I wasn’t sure what to think. The thought of a sister excited me, but a brother not so much. I wanted to share my dolls and dress up, not have to play with mud and trucks. Despite my wants, I had a feeling it was going to be a boy. The day of the ultrasound, I made a bet with my step-dad the baby would be a boy. After, I was a dollar richer and a sister of a brother to be. Having to wait a few more months to meet the little guy would be torture, as the anticipation was killing me slowly. I may not have been ready for the changes made and the ones to come, but I took them like a champ.
Most children seem to have ideas of what they would like to be when they grow up. The average person walking into any kindergarten class today would find future teachers, lawyers, doctors, nurses, astronauts, firefighters, and ballerinas; the list is endless. I never had the chance to even dream about what I wanted to be when I grew up and was given little chance to develop my own tastes and ideas towards this goal. I spent my childhood trying to be the good example to my younger brother and sister that my father demanded in his letters. All the while I was hoping and praying that my mother and father would get back together. The only thing I knew was being a mom and that is what I thought I wanted to be.