`` Mommy, Where Are We Going? Essay

Connie starts out in the story as someone that is self-absorbed, concerned for no one but herself. Arnold Friend is really the same way. He tells her that he saw her “that night and thought, that’s the one” (Oates 480). In spite of the words he uses, the reader knows that Arnold does not have any true feelings for Connie because he says “My sweet little blue-eyed girl” (Oates 483). Arnold is oblivious to the fact that Connie has brown eyes. “In Arnold’s view, Connie’s personal identity is totally unimportant” (Wegs 3).

I remember the first day I walked into my kindergarten class, I clenched my mother’s hand with all my might to prevent her from letting go. The kids around me, whom I supposed were my classmates, had long let go of their mother’s had and were playing together, and even as a five year old, at that point I felt like an outsider. I pleaded my mom to not leave but my attempts failed as I found myself alone yet surrounded by complete strangers. As I stood in the center of the room while pushing back my tears and eyeing my mother make her way out the door, I heard the teacher call my name. I timidly walked towards the spot on the yellow carpet she was signaling at for me to sit on. I heard Mrs. Ross’s soothing voice but no matter how much I concentrated

My sisters and I all squished together on the small couch. So finally after what felt like twenty years, mom and dad said “We’re moving”. My stomach dropped. I loved this house, it was the only house I could remember living in, it was home. ”Where are we moving to?” I managed to say, hoping it would be across the street or something close. “Georgia!” she said with a soothing smile and hope and excitement in her eyes. Of course I didn’t want to move, especially out of state, my nine year old self was devastated, and before I knew it boxes were

How would you feel if one day you were taken away from the only family you had left, then you were bounced around from one foster home to another? Well that’s how it was for a young child named Anne and her two siblings. Based on a true story The Suitcases, written by Anne Hall Whitt took place in North Carolina. Anne and her two sisters were taken away from their father and were sent to many foster homes. Wherever the girls went they always thought of their father, because they’re family. In The Suitcases, Anne Hall Whitt uses atmosphere and conflict to explain Anne’s relationship with her family.

“Natalie!” “Miguel!” we hugged once we saw each other. She took me back to the house “So what are you doing here brother” “I came to visit for 3 days.” Once I saw mom I felt overweight and almost fell but with the little strength I had I hugged her. “Honey I missed you” “Me to Mom.” After, we had dinner then I unpacked everything I had to give them like a coffee machine, telephone, and backpacks and gloves. “Mom how’d did you guys get a house in the city.” “Remember how I had a shop I sold it for more money than it was and the money you were sending us helped a lot.” The next day I wake up to a beautiful sound of the city and birds and people talking. I go outside and saw the house and it wasn’t a apartment the house was huge with a enormous backyard. The next day I left back to Los Angeles and started to do the same thing work on the weekdays then go to my mom’s house on the weekends. The dust bowl had ended and my 2 brothers and 2 sister left to college to and we became a great

In “Invisible Child,” a New York Times article written by Andrea Elliot, we follow a day in the life of a young African American girl, Dasani, growing up in New York City. However, instead of living in an “Empire State of Mind,” Dasani lives in the slums, growing up homeless with her two drug addicted parents and seven siblings. Dasani often finds herself taking care of her siblings, making sure they have enough to eat, tying shoelaces, changing diapers, getting them to the bus stop in time, and the list goes on. An 11 year old girl, essentially taking care of a whole family, as well as taking care of herself by going to school, receiving an education, and partaking in extra-curricular activities. Elliot captures the life and struggles of a family well under the poverty line, giving us an unprecedented look into what Dasani must do each day not just to grow up in New York City, but to survive.

Karly Segrave was a fifteen year old girl when Hurricane Katrina Hit. Her mother worked at St. Tammany Parish Hospital, so when it was time to evacuate she stuffed everything she could into a backpack and went on her way. Most of the employees at the hospital brought their familys with them, so space was limited. Karly slept under her mothers cubical for three weeks. “At first it was fun,” she watched movies, played games, and had tons of people to talk to. Then days turned into weeks and the hospital begun to run low on food. She began to realize that it wasn’t all fun and games.

We chased each other in circles until our little legs could not run anymore, with our dad in view from the back porch. The day seemed as if it could never end. Everything was going great; this is until our mom came home. Now, I don’t know about you, but not listening to my mom has never ended with good results. As soon as her eyes beamed to the three of us in the yard, I know we were all in trouble. “Jaycee Sue, Jayden Harold, and Larry Wayne!” were the only words we needed to hear her yell before we ran inside, to her dungeon, aka the

My mother had left my dad’s house slippers by the coat rack behind the door. I was grateful to her as the floor felt like ice. Hanging up my coat, I slipped into my dad’s bathrobe, which was hanging on its peg. We had a fireplace in the living room and the chimney exited the west side of the roof. I smelled the smoke of the dying fire, and I knew my mom was in bed. The bedrooms were located on the second story. Her room was located at the end of the hallway, and my room was at the head of the stairs above the

Caylee stepped off the bus and ran to her house. She ran through her gate, past 7 of her family’s cars in her driveway, and finally reached the giant doors of her huge house. Being a 13 year old, Caylee wanted to get a snack and watch T.V. that day. But, when she walked through the doors Caylee heard a yell, “CAYLEE, COME TO THE KITCHEN!” Although her mom yelled so loud, she could barely hear her. As her backpack weighed down her shoulders, Caylee trudged to the kitchen.

We had lost our sense of generosity and we were filled with bitterness and anger. But there was still a job that needed to be done so we couldn’t let our emotions get the best of us. Our next and final home was on Holton Street. As the minutes passed on our way to the next home I hoped that this experience would be different. As we neared our destinations the quality of the homes was deteriorating. Shoes hanging on power lines (usually a sign pf gang presence or drug trading), trash all over the sidewalks, and sadly seeing a family of 3 in nothing but T-Shirt and shorts sitting outside on a bench in below freezing temperature. Seeing all these I had a feeling that the area we were entering wasn’t only poor, but unsafe. We arrived to the home and knocked on the door. A boy no older than 14 answered the door and an enormous grin appeared on his face. Boom. This is exactly the type of reaction we loved. This home was in abysmal condition. There were holes in the wall. floorboards were creaking at every step, and there were cobwebs seemingly in every corner of the kitchen. As we placed the food on the counter we noticed that the mother was watching us from the living room. She came out to meet us and to our shock, she was in a wheelchair. “My God mam, are you okay? How did this happen?” said amo. In a very heavy English accent she replied, “Car accident.” In the corner of my eye I also spotted two toddlers sitting in a crib. How is this woman

Anna Beth Stevens grew up in the south. She was brewed with tradition in the wind and potatoes on the table. She always dreamt of breaking free of her snow globe town. She witnessed a sitcom once based in Beverly Hills. It left her yearning to know what lay in store on a separate coast. However, lighting bug jars and knee scrapes filed her summer. The tormenting of the neighbor boys would not do itself. Anna Beth was fearless and smart. When she was 9, she filled coffee filters with flower and cayenne pepper. She wet the bottom of them just enough to break when hitting the faces of the boys that lived behind her grandmother’s. They had no idea what had just landed in their eyes causing them to cry an uncontrollable cry, but they knew from that

“It is a shame that her father left her...this happened because her mother failed her job as a wife...she is so young...what was her father thinking?”, my relatives whispered as they sipped their tea. My cousin’s face turned pale like the white blanket of snow falling outside the lodge at the camp in Lake Tahoe. Her expression held so many emotions as if it was a canvas of a painting to be gazed upon. I could see that she felt frustrated and tired of these rude remarks, and all I did was just stand there and caressed the back side of her hands, so I could comfort her. Suddenly, it felt like the air had thickened so much that even a hammer could not slash it into tiny bits. My cousin had not yet known why her father left the house yesterday.

Seth sat silently in the back seat of his mom’s car. He had been staring out the window since 9:00 this morning for the past 10 hours he had been in the car. His mom had frequently been checking on him through the rearview mirror, but he didn’t blame her. He knew that she was worried about him. After all, until 3 months ago she had been in the same state of mind he was right now, so he knew that she understood what he felt like. On some levels anyway. She couldn’t fully understand what he was going through since she hadn’t been the one to cause the problems. Yet here they were, making the annual trip to Seth’s grandparents house the only difference was the were a man short this year. Their home was in Minnesota only 5 miles south of the Canadian border and in the middle of nowhere. It took the police 50 minutes to get there and there were only a few people that shared lake Kabetogama with them.

Ava was a 16 year old girl with dark skin and springy hair. She lived in Colebrook, a quaint town in northern New Hampshire. At Colebrook Academy she excelled at study hall - practically failing all of her classes - opting for a more exciting path in life. At home, Ava found herself in a small and dilapidated townhouse. The color faded building had a wobbly and splintered front porch; siding, filthy with mold; shoddy window installment; decaying shingles; a single dormer, with a sagging roof; and a hefty door made of steel, covered with scrapes and dents.