My Family - Original Writing

Seven years earlier, I migrated to Hawaii when I was twenty-three. I had flown away from my mother and my life in the Philippines. Like young adults and being rebellious, I wanted to live on my own away from my mother 's roof. I left the city life I grew up with in the Philippines in hope of a better life in another country.

Once I was done with seconds, I went to the porch with Jeffrey and Lauren. We waited for Cody and Justin to get done, so we could play Who Wants to be a Millionaire, Apples to Apples, and some kind of Trivia game. Once they

October twelfth of my freshman year, I woke up thinking it would be a normal day. I planned on going over to my friend Alex’s house that night with a few other people; we planned on having a bonfire that night. Saturday morning, I went through my usual routine, and I decided to go over to Alex’s house around six o’clock p.m., surprisingly I wasn’t the first person there. About twenty others had been there for a while apparently, when I arrived everyone was in the front, some playing basketball, others sitting and talking, and some even

I was sitting at the dining room table with my father's, girlfriend's kids. They were Nick and Josh, both 12. We were just hanging out after

A couple of years ago, my family and I went to a party for my cousin’s graduation. My sister, Alexa, and I were extremely zealous; we had never been to a graduation party before. Of course, the entire ride there, we sat in anticipation, wondering when we were finally going to arrive. Finally, after a couple of hours in the car, we had made it to the party. As a matter of fact, my cousin’s house appeared magnificent and they had a trampoline in the backyard that I couldn’t wait to jump in.

The crisp night air blew the curtains in my pink bedroom as me and my older cousins played charades among Christmas lights that I had hung up earlier that day. We giggled and screamed and made music videos to loud songs and made up jokes that would last a lifetime; as the night progressed we only had more fun. My eyes grew heavy around ten o’clock and my eldest cousin slipped out of the room after she had just yelled at us after my nine year cousin threw a monchichi stuffed monkey which cascaded across the room leaving a red mark on the eldests forehead. When she left the rest of us, my nine year old cousin my sister and I, all clambered into the big queen blow up bed which we had covered with an assortment of

We still have sleepovers but we will never ever do the Bloody Mary ritual again who knows what might

Your grandpa and I were face-timing each other on our iPhone 6 (those are what we had before all the new gadgets came out) we were going over what costumes to wear so we could win the costume contest. Your aunt Erin was Super Girl, Corey was Batman, your grandpa was Superman, and I was Super Woman. There was only one day until the Halloween

It was a drizzling Saturday morning, when my dad pulled into the driveway as my excitement bubbling from within. My dad opened up the little dog carrier and there was a small chocolate lab cowering in the corner. As my dad handed my brother this little shaking puppy, he received his bright red collar with little tags on it. My dad promptly asked, “What should we name him”? I responded with Dexter. My brother on the other hand wanted to name him Basco. With my dad as the final decision he became known as Basco. The more I heard that name the more I hated it.

I was born on July 2nd, 1997 to Mandy Dollich and Terry Reno. My mom grew up with very religious grandparents and not so religious parents. My grandma, her mother, and my grandpa, her father, we hippies and the “cool” parents. The liked to throw parties and to have fun especially my grandfather. He told me that one time he got so drunk that he had to have my mom, who at the time was only eleven, drive him home. My Great Grandmother, though, was extremely religious and she took my mom 's church every Sunday morning for the service as well as for the night services. She also got my mom involved in the youth group and in the choir. So my mom, despite her rambunctious parents, grew up to be a Christian. My father and his side of the family consider themselves to be Christians as well. They, however, are not as hardcore as most people say they should be. They don 't go to church often or pray before meals. They didn 't feel like they had to put on a big show to prove that they believe in God. My mother never married my father and a few years after I was born she started dating Dennis Dollich who is now my stepfather. His family, especially his mother, are what people would call “holy rollers”. they are the type of family that goes to church every Sunday and prays before every meal. They are very much the type of people that will talk about got to anyone who will listen.

When I was in seventh grade, I was almost arrested. It feels shameful to even type those words but I, the teacher’s pet, was almost arrested in seventh grade. One day in gym class, a girl named “Lacey” called me a “nigger.” I cannot remember what I said to Lacey, but I am sure I was loud and angry. In my household we never used that word. My grandfather was born in 1920s Florida and my grandmother was born in 1950s Georgia. They both told us that “nigger” was the last word some of their neighbors heard as they were killed. Although I never had those experiences, that word is emotionally charged for me.

Where was I expected to go now that my father no longer wanted me living in his house? I remember asking myself this question over and over. I had just been dropped off, back in my home town, at my grandparent’s house after a long and excruciatingly quiet car ride. I had sat in the backseat of my father’s SUV, not a single word spoken between us. The entire time all I had to think about was where I would go once we arrive at our destination. I can’t stay with my grandparent’s for the next two years while I’m finishing high school, and there was no way I was going to return to his house if I was just going to be forced to leave again. I unwelcome there, so I knew that I would be living with my mother by the time school started, which was great, except for the fact that nothing is ever permanent with her. Spending time with her on the weekends as a child I remember it always seemed like she was at a different house, living with another friend, or back staying in the spare bedroom at my grandparent’s. It was always unknown to me where I was going to be going when I stayed with her. Half-way through her college career I was born, so her only choice was to quit school and get whatever job she could, in the hopes that one day she would be able to go back and earn her degree. I never realized the importance of attending college, neither one of my parents had attended or finished their higher education, all I heard about it was the debt I would accumulate if I decided to go to a

We were a normal family of four at first. It was my mom, dad, brother and I. We lived in a little adobe house that they made themselves. I was their first child, the oldest of two. I was born in Mexico and life there seemed simple, but as a child I couldn’t really tell when things weren’t. Things were pretty normal the first four years of my life, I was about to go to school in Mexico and I spent a lot of time with my dad and family. I was really close with my dad, we would go out together a lot, he had a bunch of CD’s in his car and he would play one and we’d sing together, and he would make me breakfast in the mornings while I watched morning cartoons. He was basically my role model in my early days, it was nice too, I really enjoyed it.

I was raised in Jellico, Tennessee, a quaint town bordering Kentucky with my parents, and three older sisters. My family was extremely religious up until I was nearly a teenager. My family attended church every week, in addition to leading the church youth group. One would be under the impression that the Hughes family was an exceedingly wholesome family that did little wrong, I was under this impression also. Being a white family in an old-fashioned town in both the south and the bible belt, this was not completely accurate. When I was still a young child, no older than ten, my paternal uncle taught myself and my youngest sister a derogatory noun that referenced to those descending from Africa. My sister and I, being children that had not learned right from wrong, repeated this word. I quickly realized that I was not scolded by my parents or older siblings for using this word, as I was for saying less harmful words such as “crap,” “fool,” “darn,” and “jerk.” Due to this, I was under the impression for multiple years that this word was inoffensive to any person. Soon I learned that this word was suitable for both home and school. Multiple classmates used the word often, and teachers either never noticed, or simply overlooked it. Ten years later, I am completely aware, no thanks to my family, that that word is unacceptable, and should never be repeated by a Caucasian person. Parents are not always aware of what is truly right for their children when it comes to how to treat

I have been stuck in this cell for almost a year now. No one would 've guessed I’d ever be here. I grew up raised on religion, that’s all my family ever talked about; “What would the Lord want?” I loved having rules to live by and knowing that someone was watching over me. I brought religion to my own family. My wife and son, they knew how important religion was to me. It’s ironic how religion, the thing I loved so much, led me to this… jail.