Francisco's Struggles

Whenever I was sad or upset in anyway my parents would approach me only to tell me to get it together and clean because the dishes were definitely not going to wash themselves. I once put my hand on the stove just to figure out what it might feel like; it felt hot, and i was crying. My grandma came to see what happened and just laughed at me and told me to do it again. She made me put my hand in cold water but i ended up just refilling it over and over again and it was then that she hatched a plan to put my misfortune to good use. She put a step stool on the ground and made me wash the dishes, it was then that my dish career launched and i started washing dishes all through my latino community.

That day when I returned home from school, my mom’s boyfriend called me asking to speak to my grandmother. Typically, Gus would call my grandmother himself if he wanted to speak with her, which was rare. I found out about my mom going to the hospital from my grandmother after that phone call. The doctor told my family that a stroke afflicted her in the middle of the day. My mom confused the date with her birthday, had trouble getting words out and remembering our family member’s names. The nurse had to take her for walks periodically and exercise her legs and arms because they were weak. Seeing my mother in this condition made me appreciate my mother and everything she does for me tremendously. However, I was terrified for my mother’s health.

I went to my living room to ask my mom a question, to see she wasn’t there. I asked my brother “where’s mom?” and he replied with “shes at the hospital, grandpa got burnt.” I would never have expected “grandpa got burnt” to be as severe as it was. I remember my mom coming home around two in the morning. I got up and out of bed to ask some questions. She said “I don’t wanna talk about it right now. Pack some stuff up, we’re going to Waterloo tomorrow.” So I listened and packed up a bag.

My grandma was my superhero with her genial personality and her ability to give you her full, undivided attention in order to listen to whatever you had to say. It was always my dream to be able to share both my high school and college graduation with both my parents and grandma and being able to later pay them all back for all their sacrifices. Towards the beginning of my sixth-grade year my grandma became unexpectedly sick and as months passed her health slowly began to deteriorate until she fell into a vegetative comatose for the next four years. My grandma’s sudden illness came as an unexpected surprise which leads to my mom and her family having to take turns in order to care for my grandma throughout her extensive hospital visits and inhome medical care. Throughout those four years both my emotional and mental health took a hit as I tried my best to learn how to deal with her sudden illness and the fact that my mom was rarely home because she was either in the hospital or at my grandma’s house in order to help take care of

Often in works of literature, a character encounters a situation that requires courage. In the real fiction novel, The Circuit by Francisco jimenez the main character Francisco is very courageous. Francisco and his family immigrated to Mexico from California had to do many things to making money and had a better life, because they are so poor and they they needed to do a lot things to know about the life. Francisco passed so many thinks that given courageous.

I thought she would laugh, but she didn’t. We were eating dinner together. My sister and dad were out to a movie. It was quiet, peaceful inside the house. My mother said, “You could be good at that.” When I asked her why she felt that way, she smiled. She said, “I know you’re always telling stories in your head.” She surprised me. I asked her if she thought my sister could be a writer and she said, “Not in the same way.” I wanted her to talk more about who she thought I could be, but my dad and sister came home. My dad was mad that we hadn’t made enough dinner for him, that we hadn’t thought to turn on the porch light, that the pesto had been left on the counter, that he always had to clean up after us.

The following months a winter, cold and gloomy, surrounded the house. My grandmother came to stay with us since my father had fallen into depression and needed help taking care of my sister and I. When my grandmother went grocery shopping my sister would struggle with homework without my grandmother’s help. One day when my grandmother left to go grocery shopping my sister approached me, which was unusual of her since its very rare for her to come to me. Her dark brown hair and big eyes reminded me of my self when I was younger. “I’m hungry” she complained, a question she’s never asked me. My father sleeping and my grandmother away, I was the only one left to take care of her and that terrified me. I had never cared for or known how to care for someone else. All I knew was how to evaluate whether or not someone was caring for another correctly.

One day after I finished drawing the image of a turkey at school, I took it home and showed it to my mother, then asked her if we would eat a turkey on Thanksgiving. To my surprise, she said, “No why would we eat a turkey and what is Thanksgiving?” I explained to her that Thanksgiving was the day that everyone eats turkey and gathers with their family to celebrate the turkey. My mother was very confused at my response and neglected my offer to celebrate that holiday, but I continued encouraging and persuading her to cook a turkey on Thanksgiving. Hearing all my peers talk about Thanksgiving made me even more excited and look forward to that day. As the days continued in school, I continued taking home poems and songs about Thanksgiving to my mother and family. My teacher gathered all the students in the classroom, and had us practice a

My grandmother’s parents immigrated to Johnstown, Pennsylvania from a small town in Poland close to Warsaw. As a young child she spoke two languages Polish at home and English when she went to school or with friends. Life started out very difficult and never really got any easier.. Her life continued to get worse when she lost her husband in a mining accident and her eldest son to a car accident. My grandma used to tell me the stories of their deaths, and how it taught her how strong she really is. She turned the hardships in her life into something beautiful, something joyous, and something sentimental. These moments shaped her into who she is, but they do not define her. These moments that she shares allow me to move on and find something joyful about every situation even if they are not be ideal. When my grandfather passed away my grandmother gave me the strength to look on the brighter side of the situation instead of the sad side.

One time, when I was in El Salvador, my aunt had to go to a meeting with her husband. My grandma and my aunt work at a store inside the house. My aunt wanted someone to help my grandma work the store. no one wanted to help her out, so I volunteered to help her out. So my aunt left me and my grandma in charge of the store, so I went to the back because that’s where the store is at and helped my grandma sell some home necessities. (because that’s what we sell in there we also sell chips and food and stuff). My grandmas job was to get the money and my job was to get the stuff the people wanted. Working with my grandma was so fun cause she makes the funniest jokes and she's really nice

On January 5, 2009 my father pasted away. He and I did not have the typical father-son relationship; we did not have a relationship at all. I presumed that it would have a little if any affect on me. However, as the semester continued, it seemed to get worse. Besides my father’s passing, several weeks later my grandmother was diagnosed with dementia. It was difficult for me to deal with, but it was more difficult for my mother to handle.

So I wait for grandma to get the milk and plates, so we both can sit and discuss our time away from each other. I was only 6 at the time my grandma first started making the cookies for me. So of course, all that was on my mind was the taste of grandma’s sweet cookies that made me fill like those were the best on earth, and no one could tell me different! Mom would be by the stove stuffing her face with her favorite lemon cake and hot tea, while me and grandma share our time together.

Growing up was rough without a father in my life. As well, my mother was either at school or working half the time. I would be stuck with my grandparents, and I was the first grandson in both sides of my families so they never knew how to manage but buy me toys which I never really used. In some ways they spoiled me rotten. Right until my little sister Olivia and my cousin Roger were born. Then, I wasn’t getting spoiled anymore and was forgotten. However, this brings me to a time when I just reached third grade I was 8 years and my grandmother Sandra Simmons my mom’s mother. Decided it was time for me to give up my toys and become a big boy. So, I began to throw a tantrum and ask what the reason was. Well little, did I know my grandmother did a lot of missionaries to El Salvador way

Culinary art is a momentous part of my life.When I was around the age of nine I was living with both my mom and dad. I was always in the kitchen helping my mom cook dinner. I made baked ziti, empanadas, sweet potato pie, and other foods.When I was in high school, I lived with my father,and after my older siblings grew up it was just me and my little sister so I was responsible for cooking the meals. I was cooking for my family an average of seven days a week and I was never tired or bored, I enjoyed it. I developed a strong passion for culinary arts. I am passionate about it because it excites me, inspires me, and encourages me to open a restaurant.

And I was so surprised about my dad’s soup. All my thoughts about a great meal were taken down. The soup was not as delicious as it looked, it tasted so weird: at first, I felt it so salty, after a while, it tasted so spicy. After tasting the first sip, I looked at my dad and smiled. He just thought that he was successful with his soup until he tried his first sip. Then he knew how his soup was and he said “Sorry son, I tried my best, maybe we can wait for mom to come back home and cook dinner for us.” As soon as he finished speaking, I took the spoon, continued eating the soup and smiled. I know the soup was not good, but it was from my dad, from all his love for me. I don’t know if my dad knew what I was thinking or not, or maybe he thought that I was so hungry to eat everything even though it tasted too bad. My dad was so surprised about my act for a while, and he continued to eat the soup with me. We both had a great time together, eating and talking with each other about bad things, good things at work and school. After that, my mom finally came home. She looked so tired from her work, but she still smiled and looked at me and my dad while both of us were eating soup. She surely knew my dad made something for me and she slowly went forward to the table and started tasting the soup. After her tasting, not a single word, she hugged both of us with her slender arms and also with all her heart. This