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The effect of divorce on children
The effects of divorce on children
The effect of divorce on children
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When I was growing up, my dad was never quite around. He began to work more frequently when my parents and my sister, Ashley, moved into our new house. To most people he was known as a "workaholic". Almost every holiday, except Christmas, he would work. I would go to bed at night and he would still be at work; I would wake up in the morning and he would have already left. I very seldom saw him. However, when he was home, he would be stressed and drink a beer or few. Some nights he would get really mad at my mom, my brother, or me and throw things. Anything he could get is hands on honestly. I remember one night I came home and he was screaming at my brother who at the time was only six years of age. I went up the stairs, pressed my ear against …show more content…
I could hear my mom crying and my dad screaming and cursing over and over and over again. Before I could even set my bags down my mom stormed from the bedroom, grabbed her car keys, and told Austin and I to meet her in the car. My dad came outside as soon as we were pulling out of the driveway. He didn't stop yelling at my mom until we were out of sight. She drove us to sonic and bought our favorite milkshakes. When we got home my dad pleads for forgiveness. He always apologizes and when he does they are always …show more content…
Ashley and my dad always had a good relationship. He would drive her to school, watch her games, come to all her plays, and find anytime he could to be with her. My dad was never the same with me. He only drove me to school when my mom absolutely couldn't, he only came to my games when someone would ask why he was never there, and he would never really spend time with me, I would talk to my friends and all of them had great relationships with their dads. They all interacted with their kids and talked to their kids and played with their kids. Seeing my friends taking with their dad's about school and talking about their day always made me feel awful. Why didn't my dad want to talk to me about school? Why did my dad never spend time with me like the other girls dads? I wanted so badly for my dad to say the words "I love you" or tell me that I'm pretty instead of always pointing out all of my imperfections. I felt as if everything he told me was an insult. He would make jokes about the way I looked, the way I talked, the way I walked; it seemed like nothing I ever did was good enough. I would try so hard to get him to love me the way he loved my sister, but nothing ever worked. Eventually, I gave up and decided that he was never going to want to have a relationship with
The people who I look up to is my mom and my dad. Ever since I was born, they helped me with my problem that I have. Every day after school my mom would help me with my homework, because most of the time I don’t understand my assignment, that she knew how to do some math work, because I would forget how to answer my math, while my dad is at work. On his days off me and my dad would sometimes go fishing in the river or a lake, because he would like to spend time with. Other times we would go hunting for deer or bird, because it would be boring if we didn’t do
Father, computer server engineer, alcoholic, and felon. My dad, Jason Wayne DeHate, has influenced my life, not only genetically, but he has also improved my character and creativity throughout the years. Beginning at age two, I was cultured with profanity spit from rappers such as Eminem. While my mother was at work we had multiple videotaped “jam sessions” and coloring time that allowed for the foundation of friendship we have today. The jam sessions consisting of me mumbling and stumbling in front of the television, as he was “raising the roof” from his lazyboy. Since then, he has taught me how to rollerblade, change wiper blades, and play my favorite sport, tennis. Along with influencing my leisure activities and the music I enjoy, his prominent personality allows me to grow as a person. Being the only male figure in my immediate family, I
Back in the day when I was very little, I remember that my dad used to take care of me. He would never let me run around the house when glass could break and hurt me. As I kept growing up my father started to give me more freedom but also gave me more responsibilities; like he wanted me to do the chores of the house, not all of them but some. I knew they were not mine to do, but I still help. When I went off to college and I had to do it all by myself, I realized that my father did good on making me do my laundry, chores, etc., when I was young.
As I grew older, I saw my dad less frequently. Our luncheons were suspended by my having to go to school and my wanting to spend time with my friends.
To my grandmother, my dad is her most prized possession; he is the epitome of hard work and dedication. Raised in a lower-middle class family, in a rural village, to her, he is everything and more. I, however was a disappointment from the very beginning. He is a passionate learner; I had temper tantrums every time someone mentioned that I should go to school. He is quiet and reserved, and only spoke when directly addressed to; I never stopped talking and if given the chance, I would take it upon myself, to answer questions that were not even
abusive to the point that it caused him to runaway from the only home he had. For
He always updated you on how much he was hurting, and never once mentioned any of the kind, helpful things that everyone did for him while he was
I’ve never had a dad... I don’t think they really count if the run out on you and leave. I chased boys at school, I thought maybe they could show me love. I had this longing urge to feel it. Everyone always tells me how great it is to be loved, or how they are going on a father daughter date.
He would call names and completely diminish my self esteem. I would act tough on the outside, just like the egg, but on the inside I was actually soft. I was removed and put in my grandparent’s home the summer before my eighth grade year. My brother moved in with my uncle, and we’ve been separate ever since. This whole situation turned me into the egg as I appeared tough on the outside, but I was actually soft and sensitive on the
He would leave notes for me to find or he would ring or txt me saying that he was going to kill himself and it would be my fault. This was a really difficult situation, as I have said before, I understood that he needed help, the difficultly was deciding or trying to find a balance between trying to help him, while also trying to keep my myself safe psychological and physically. I was pushed to my limit, he was continually draining and sucking my energy and there was a moment that I am not particularly proud of, where I just wanted him to do it, so it would be all over. I was starting to harden and not really care about what happen to him
My father was always there for me, whether I wanted him to be or not. Most of the time, as an adolescent trying to claim my independence, I saw this as a problem. Looking back I now realize it was a problem every child needs, having a loving father. As hard as I tried to fight it, my dad instilled in me the good values and work ethic to be an honest and responsible member of society. He taught me how to be a good husband. He taught me how to be a good father. He taught me how to be a man. It has been 18 years since my father’s death, and I am still learning from the memories I have of him.
Which I was WRONG! Everything with excess harms. Words like “Will there be any boys there? as well as “Send me pictures to see if you’re really with your family” were all signs of his jealousy. Just something so simple like going out with my sister to the movies or the mall, made him mad.
He had given me a step-mother and step-sister whom I appreciated greatly. When my brother and I would visit, we were shown a different type of lifestyle. My dad has always been a family man, meaning we would participate in activities such as going on trips out of town and eating every meal at the dinner table with no distractions. Every Saturday night that we were together for, we would all sit in the living room, pop some popcorn and have a movie night, or watch a television series that was popular at the time. My father unquestionably fun and humorous, while also being very strict.
I never talked to him on a deeper level like I would would with with my mother. My father was always there for me if I ever needed anything. However, he never made any effort to speak to me about sensitive situations. If something that was a touchy subject, he would act awkward and try to avoid the conversation. My dad is a great man, who loves, cares, and would do anything for me. He just does not know how to communicate and speak about things that create a bond between us, the way my mother does.
I always had, and still have, a very good relationship with my parents. Some things have altered slightly with time but not too much. I used to adore my father. Like most young kids, I thought that my dad was the best thing since sliced bread. My feelings began to shift some as I started to grow up. I began to have my own ideas, and no longer was he always correct. Sometimes he was simply wrong, and pointing this fact out to him sometimes got me into trouble. The punnishments for these deeds taught me more in the long run than they did at that time.