Descriptive Essay About My Mother

​Parents are one of the most beautiful things that could happen to anyone. They are always there by your side no matter what; they always want the best for their children. They can be strict and protective, its because they love their kids and they don’t want them to get hurt. My parents are special to me because with all the hard time that they had to have me and my siblings in their life they still fought for us and didn’t give up, even after 17 years of trying. But for me? The greatest of all is my mom. She is the one that I look up too. She is the greatest of all. Simple, funny, strict, protective, but yet she is the best.

As a high school math teacher, I am having rewarding experiences educating and motivating students, but it is not my true calling. I want to positively affect a wider scope of the public and do so in a way that can improve and potentially save lives. The medical field is the best option to fulfill this desire and becoming a physician's assistant has become my new passion. The aspects of the profession that most attract me are its rewarding nature and its fascinating and diverse content. Due to my experiences as an educator and professional football player, and to my intelligence and compassion, I am confident I would be an excellent physician's assistant. While shadowing a physician's assistant in an orthopedic practice, I met a patient, Diane, whose story solidified my commitment to becoming a PA. Seven months prior, Diane was on the verge of becoming a diabetic due to her obesity, but was unable to lose weight due to a poor diet and an arthritic knee that prevented her from exercising. The physician's assistant at Diane's family practice sent her to a dietician to improve her nutrition, and to an orthopedic center, where another physician's assistant gave her a series of Synvisc shots to relieve the pain in her knee. When I met Diane, she lost 42 pounds and, consequently, she would likely be approved for a knee replacement surgery that would allow her to continue her remarkable turnaround. The ability to work in diverse fields, such as a family

She didn’t have to choose me, she didn’t have to provide for me, she didn’t have to love me and she most definitely didn’t have to take me in, but she did. I’m so unbelievably proud to call my mom my hero.

For this narrative, I interviewed my mom, Amanda Lopez. At first, she seems mean. That’s very blunt but it’s true. My mom is a very guarded and self-reserved person. She does have manners and she is nice but, she won’t open up immediately to a new person. She is also very hard working and independent. She wasn’t born with these qualities, she went through a lot of different struggles, but that’s how she ended up where she is today.

Growing-up I always had a lot of family that was very supportive in my life. They believed in me even when I didn 't believe in myself. However, one person that I loved so much was my great grandmother, Bobbie Alger. She married Robert Alger (a military man) at a very young age and they were happily married until he died before I was born. My parents loved Robert and decided to name me after him. So, they named me Kyle Robert Phillippi. This has always meant so much to me. My great grandma is now 92 years old and is my biggest role model. Bobbie and I have a unusual relationship. A type where people think we are disrespectful to each other. But I can reassure you that we love each other so much.

It is January 29th, 1989. Enrique’s mother has spent the money she’s been saving up to get a smuggler to bring her to the United States. The last thing Enrique sees from his mother is her stepping off of the porch and walking away, for she cannot face him. Although, Enrique is confused by this, “‘Dónde está mi mami?’ Enrique cries, over and over. ‘Where is my mom?’” (5). As the years go by, Enrique goes from house to house, turned down by his relatives. He blames his mother for the way his life has turned out. As much as he is hurt by his mother for leaving him, the desperation he needs for her love never ceases to exist. As he cries “over and over” for his mother, she never returns. The abandonment from all the people close to him serves

Who is your best friend? Some may answer this question with your mom, one of your siblings, or even just a person that is the same age as you. When I am asked this exact same question I used to answer with “my grandma.” My grandma was just a phenomenal woman, and she would do anything for me and the rest of the family to make sure that we are all jubilant. I lived with my grandma, my whole life. We did everything together. From shopping, going in family reunions that we didn’t even want to go to, and attempting to cook new things, but ending up burning it. My grandma and I were always together. She was my rock.

I am the kind of person who works hard and never gives up when things get rough. I learn to build this mentality from my mother at a young age. Probably at around six, in the beginning it didn’t sink in. All I cared about was running wild and making a mess and not having a care for the world. Man I use to get in trouble and never work hard in anything and almost always gave up when things got rough. Examples of this was when I use to pretend to be a chef and would make a mess and almost started a fire at eight years old because I wanted to copy what I saw on TV. Another example is whenever I use to think I was going to lose in whatever video game I was playing I was throw my controller and then press the reset button and start all over. Later on as I got older like around thirteen I can say my mother’s words started to sink in. I can name many times in my life where things were really hard and difficult and thought I would never overcome what was in front of me and I did. For example grade school I use to get teased for everything. Things like how I talked, the fact that my mother use to cut my hair and I didn’t have a shape up and it got worse in middle school and went on into when I was in high school I would get mad fun of for things I couldn’t afford like expensive clothes and the kids would bother me and tease me every day. They wouldn’t stop there just because I didn’t have cloth they would find other things to bother me with. For example I am Haitian and for some

What can one say about their mother? One may talk about her positive and negative

My mother was a reader. Her favorite spot was in front of the fire on frigid days, settled with a soft sweater and her then-best friend. Words comforted her exceptionally greater than any sweater, and when reality failed, a book would always grow to fill the vacancy. She read to me in times like this, on the vicious and sinister nights when thunder raged in tantrum at the entirety of the world, or after I scuffed my skin on harsh sidewalks and even harsher people. Hercules and the Nutcracker and the Big Nutbrown Hare, who loved his son “right up to the moon — AND back,” all danced in my head on different nights, but were all sung in the same sweet cadence of my mother’s delicate voice. She sent me on my reluctant way when I eventually learned how to decipher the silent letters and the vowels, and I was encouraged to read on my own. My parents printed out a big chart — a calendar, I’ve since learned — and we picked books. I would see how fast I could read these books: how fast I traveled to Hogwarts, how expediently I found the buried treasure, how fast I sank the Titanic. I could do anything that I set myself out to do with a book, so I did it all. I was the resident Egyptian archeologist, the walking compilation of every horror book in the library, the archer from medieval England, and I knew I could be even more. So I read.

Any women can be a mother but it takes someone special to be a mother. Having someone in your life who means so much to you is a blessing. My Mom, Fatima was born on June 4, 1973. Moving to her appearance, I could say that the way she acts says a lot about her personality. She is the kind of person that is interesting to listen. Every time I listen to her, I learn something new. The moment she had me in her life was also a blessing for her. Im her third daughter. She is someone who cheers me up while I’m feeling sad. Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am today. Her smile is the only thing that will make me happy throughout the day. Her guiding hand on my shoulder will remain forever. Ever since her childhood, my mom was taught that

In most cases, we develop some outstanding qualities and attributes through training and learning. However, my mother attained those unique qualities through life experience. From a very humble background, she has struggled with life, passed through a lot to be the person she is today. She always tells us that experience is the best teacher. Also, through proper parenthood. My grandparents were very strict and observant. They laid a good foundation to my mother through teaching her on good moral, and how to be responsible. Our parents always act as our role models, so when they teach us good life techniques, there is the possibility of us being better than them. Hence, in one way or another, her parents made her acquire some of these

At just over five feet tall, she was the kind of woman that you saw on the street and knew to move out of her way. Her demeanor was strict, her hands tied with thick blue veins, criss­crossing over her thin, frail fingers.

A mother is someone who can take the place of all others but no one can take the place of her. There are many different definitions you could use to describe your mother. My mother, Pam Krull, fits every one of those. Today I decided to pick the three that I thought was most important to me. I admire and aspire to be like my mother because of how supportive, how selfless, and how loving she is.

I didn’t know what to expect when I opened the door, but when I did I just saw two people sitting in this sitting area that almost looked like a living room. They were both sitting on a couch about the size of a love seat, which was adjacent to another chair. They were both in a somewhat casual attire. My mother was dressed in jeans and a plain white t-shirt. My father was dressed in a striped polo shirt match with a pair of tan slacks. If you looked closely you could tell that my mother had been in the kitchen, with small speckles of flour on her clothes and aims a discarded apron hanging off the side of the arm rest on the couch. My father on the other hand had been sitting at the computer all day. His glasses slightly tilted to the side. The fabric of his pants slightly more wrinkled towards his thighs and waist. I could remember my mom cooking in the kitchen whenever I came home from school. Discovering new recipes and concocting new sweets ready for my consumption when I entered. And my dad would be in his office tapping on his keyboard and the whisper of a clickity-clack, tippity-tap of the keys as he worked, a look of determination etched on his face. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration in comparison to the song leaving my mom’s lips and the smell of food wafting in from the kitchen. You would’ve thought we were perfect. I thought we were perfect. Little did I know that it would leave me so soon. Now here we were almost 8 years later. My mother and father standing in