I Remember That Day Like It Was Yesterday

When I was eight years old I would question my mom on if I was adopted or not. I got the subject of conversation from little kids I used to play with when I was younger they would ask me why I looked so different from my mom and brother but I could never give a solid answer because I myself didn’t even know. I have an older sister and brother, my sister is dark skin and my brother is a light skin like my mom. Radisha my eldest sister was gone for four years due to personal issues, so I only had my mom and brother and because they were both light skin I would ask why I didn’t look like them. Mother had told me it was because I looked like my father and when my sister had come home it had all made

It was a beautiful, cool July morning in the mountains of Colorado; the birds were chirping and the leaves on the trees were rustling. I could almost taste the bacon sizzling on the stovetop as my mother made breakfast. Nothing could ruin a perfect morning like this… At least that’s what I thought. Interrupting the cooking of breakfast, my mom’s cell phone strangely began to ring; there hadn’t been many people trying to contact my mom since she was on vacation. However, my mom ran to answer the call. “Oh, it’s your sister,” I heard my mom say. Although I was in a different room, I could hear the concern and worry in my mother’s voice moments after she answered the phone. Instantaneously, my heart began to race. I began feeling sick to my stomach

As soon as I came to an age where I realized I could define myself independently of my parents and their beliefs, I realized the statement she would repeat to me whenever I would come home crying and confused from the hateful words spouted at me by my classmates, was wrong. What once comforted me as a scared child became something I hated. I couldn’t stand that something my mother completely believed about me was false, moreover, it pained me to hear her ignorantly proclaim her hateful ideology

She stated, “When President Obama passed the gay marriage bill, I felt that weight of uncertainty I’ve been holding on my shoulders for years, be lifted. Unfortunately after this current election and the new administration I don’t.” Our new administration might pass a bill that allows people to discriminate against citizens that are gay. She believes that our country has become more accepting of gay people, but there are still some issues that she thinks can be resolved. Gay stereotypes don’t bother my mom, but what does is when people make her feel less of herself. I asked her if she had any regrets and she claimed, “I do. I regret not coming out sooner. I regret getting engaged to two men. I regret not believing that I am important.” My final question for her was ,”What advice would you give to someone now becoming who they truly are?” She smiled and said, “Never be afraid to be honest and give people a chance to accept you. It takes some time and it is very rare if everything works out

Most people think of the attacks on September 11th as the only attack on the United States, but they would be forgetting the attack on Pearl Harbor. The attack on Pearl Harbor was orchestrated by Japan in 1941 towards the end of World War II(WWII). This was a surprise attack that occurred off a naval base in Oahu. The United United States had been trying to negotiate with Japan for some time, but nothing ever prospered. Japan and the United States played an important part in the attack on Pearl Harbor and the United States’ entry into World War II through the people’s reactions, Japan’s power, the damage done to the United States, and Japan causing the entry to World War II.

December 15, 2013 was a completely average day until my mom picked me up from school. Noticing the tears streaming down her face, I inquired, “What happened?”

On March 4th, 2005 I sat in Mrs. Musser’s first grade class. I talked with my friend Olivia Thacker, like I did everyday. We talked about boys; how smelly they were and how we would never have boyfriends. We talked about our sisters who were also friends, and we talked about our parents. However, that year we mostly talked about my mother. Around 2:45, my sister, Lauren and I, would walk to the farthest end of the school. That end of the school was filled with the bigger kids and I was always scared to walk on that side. My sister who was in second grade at the time, always walked with me, so I had some protection. Anyways, we walked out the doors to the student car-rider pick up line. My grandmother on my father's side always picked us up

I was born in the summer of 1964, to lower middle class parents, my mother was divorced with having left three young sons behind with her first husband. My father owned a very popular gas station and repair shop, by birth being the result of a torrid love affair, this topic remained in the gossip pool well into my twenties. I was kept in the dark until Jr. high school, my mother was forced to tell me part of her truth, after the principal sent a note home. My mother suffered from depression and substance abuse as a coping mechanism to sooth her pain. At the age of two my mother gave birth to my sister, although, my mother loved us, I believe her pain tortured her relentlessly. Soon my father choose alcohol to numb his

I woke up the following morning and glanced outside my foggy window. I closed my eyes the sound of rain began to slam on the roof. I dragged myself out of bed knowing what this morning had in store. Today I had to say goodbye to Sam. I lathargically brushed my teeth and got dressed subconsciously, in a daze. When I walked downstairs, I heard my dad ask, “How are you feeling kid?”

It was the 2nd day of August and My mom and I were sitting at our long dinner table. The table was awkwardly mute. I ponderer it was quiet because another black shooting happened again. My mom were frustrated and exhausted on our police system. My mom then turned around swiftly and said too me in a bitter sweet tone “ You are black. You are black. You are black. Your future that is set out for you is a unsuccessful life. You will have too work harder than any of your

“Just please don’t be a ‘cross-dresser’”. These were the first few words that I heard from my grandmother as I came out to her for the first time. She had no idea that I did dress in woman’s' clothes and perform as a drag performer. Her remark was crystal clear: being gay was okay; being something even less normal was not. I am still pushing the expected boundaries as I become more open and upfront about my performing – my reality. I didn’t understand how something that felt right, and was I, could be perceived as something so wrong. I didn’t understand why something so harmless should be attacked and taken away from me.

I cried out. Let's head to our apartment to eat some dinner, I bought some roast beef, potatoes, rolls, and other delicious food. Dad never cooked, especially a big meal, but it sounded delicious, so I just ignored it. It was delicious except for the potatoes tasted weird and the beef was a little too salty but was still great! Then I went to bed. My dad checked on me repeatedly. To see if I was asleep. He usually just fell asleep on the couch while eating lays and watching television. Probably to see if my leg didn't hurt while in bed. Which did feel uncomfortable,

That day my mother called me several times but I was too busy at my high-powered job to take her call. I finally answered the phone and with a weak voice she told me about an audition that she wanted me to go to the next day. She didn’t say anything about how she was feeling until I asked. She said that she would go to the hospital the next day if she didn’t feel better. My mother had succumbed to a disease that continues to plague the African-American, female community.

After about five minutes of walking you reach your house and you’ve probably never been happier to see it in your life. You rush to the front door, pull out your key, and open the door- that’s weird you don’t think you saw your dad’s car in the driveway, you have to go back to the window and check. Nope, it’s not there. You enter the kitchen where you earlier expected to see your dad baking but instead you find a note that reads:

The most important day of my life that I remember of is when my parents told me that we are moving to somewhere magical. They told me that this is a way where my family can start something new and from this point on we will succeed in life. This magical place that my parents mentioned had a marvellous education system, a caring population and everything the place provided was accessible. I dreamt of this new place for many nights as a 8 year old, I was awakened of the idea of “ new start”. On the 24th of August, 2008, my family packed the bags and moved to Mississauga, Ontario.