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Growing Up In A Culturally Diverse Family

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The screaming, the crying, the fighting, was never ending. Some would last only hours and others would last days, but they would all end with threats of divorce and a finger aimed at me. My parents came from two completely opposite cultures; one is from Syria and the other from Mexico. As you can imagine, growing up in a culturally diverse household isn’t easy. My brother, sister, and I spend our lives trying to find the perfect balance between the two and continually fail. You can’t learn Spanish without learning Arabic, you can’t prefer one dish over another, you can’t even choose your religion. It has continually frustrates me how my decisions on certain aspects of each culture upset them both. Around sixth grade, however, I gave up trying to please them; I gave up trying to make them proud. That fall when school started I decided to get away from the constant negativity that devoured my home. At the age of twelve my only escape was school, and I took every opportunity I got. With no regrets I even participated in activities …show more content…

No matter how great my graders were, how much I accomplished, or how amazing of a student I was, I was always the reason they argued. My older brother, Mark, isn’t the dream child. He’s made mistakes in his life; he’s been caught drinking, smoking, and ditching classes, but even then I’m considered worse than him. I’m the one who learned Spanish, the one who listened to Latin music, who attended Catholic masses. I wasn’t like my siblings, I never cared to learn Arabic, go to church with my dad, or spend time practicing the culture with my cousins. I was the child who took a stance for the things I believed in and argued with against my dad. The child who never made him proud. Nonetheless, I woke up every morning thrilled to go to school and escape it all, to learn, go to college, and become something, someone, so I wouldn’t end up like my

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