My Family : The Love Of My Father

Your life is changed every day and there are many points to your life. One point of my life is that family is the most important thing. Family is an important factor of everyone’s life, it’s who you are and who you have become today.

My childhood was traumatic, and I am thankful that the door to my childhood is locked, sealed, and chained. I am one of five children, and I was raised by my mother. At the age of six, I fled with my mother and siblings to Arkansas in order to escape the abuse of my father. He was going to kill us; however, we were able to escape before he could. Throughout my second-grade school year, we flew back and forth to Hawaii to testify against my father. The courts convicted him and sentenced him to ten years in prison for the physical and sexual abuse that he inflicted upon my siblings and me. As a result, my mother was left to raise us alone. Life was not much better with my mother, for she abused us both mentally and physically. The mental abuse I suffered cut far deeper than any physical abuse ever could, so

I feel like my life would have been somewhat better if my dad was in my life. My dad is a hardworking, extremely determined man. He’s pushed to reach my goals and expect more for myself from a distance, but I strongly believe if he was there every day he would have pushed me so much more to reach my full potential rather than just doing things to get by. My dad has always wanted the best for me, but with him being there, he would have actually made it happen for me to get the best. He could have possibly protected me from the bad things that have happened to me. Although I wish I could go back and change things, I cannot. I do think that if my dad was in my life, it could have been worse than it was. He could have been there, but not actually be there. Resentment definitely would have played a role if my dad was around without really wanting to be there. I try not to think about what could have been though. No one has a perfect life, but I am grateful for the life I was given.

It was a sunny afternoon, after school, towards the end of my seventh-grade school year. When I came home and walked through the door, I went to the table to start doing my homework. About five minutes in, there was another unfamiliar family ready to walk out of my house. I thought nothing of it. Maybe it was just some family friends of my parents and they were here to help with something. I was in the midst of working on math homework when my dad called my sister and I into the other room. Both my parents were in another room, paying bills. I remembered this because they had told me to keep quiet. At first, I thought, I was about to be grounded. Typically, my sister and I are only called together because she had told on me for something. I was prepared for the usual “Leave your sister alone” talk. Except this time, my father’s voice was not angry. It was more sad, almost expressionless. My sister was the first to walk into the other room, myself following behind. “Sit down, we need to tell you something important.” My mom was sitting next to him, so then I knew whatever I was about to be told was something serious. Short after my dad said this, my sister followed with saying, “Is Anthony in trouble?” “Shut-up, Kristina,” I said angrily. “No, neither of you are in any trouble,” said my mom. Before I had any time to ask her why I was here if I was not in trouble, she said “Dad had just lost his job.”

Throughout my life there has been many things that hold me up and keep me strong. My church, this school, and all the friends I have here are just to name a few. But the one I want to show you today is one of the most important foundations of my life, and that is my family and how they have helped me enjoy the great times and persevere through the hard trials, and what a true blessing families are in all of our lives.

Tears streamed down my face as I watched my older brothers drag my beloved dolls behind their bikes. My four year old body was full of hate, and I thought to myself, I will never forgive them. Don’t get me wrong, family is the most important thing in my life. All my earliest memories revolve around my siblings, cousins, and all other family members. Being the youngest in my family, I looked up to my older siblings. Literally.

I must have been about 4 years old when my family and I came across a cat, he was black and white in color and dirty from being outside. He was standing in the middle of a dirt road and froze in fear when our car pulled up to him. My mother, seeing as she is rather courageous, decided she wanted to save him. My grandmother was very much against this idea, what if he's sick, what if he has rabies? This is one of my earliest memories so my recollection of this is like a dream, just bits and pieces crocheted into one mishmash of a story. I say this because after that point the next thing I remember is being at home with this cat and they had put him in the sink to wash him. He looked rather young and was thin, I couldn't tell you if that was because he was outside or if that was because he was wet, maybe both. I also couldn't tell you if they took him to the vet and got him checked out, and as sure as I am that they are responsible enough to do that, I couldn't tell you for sure. They later named him Gus. Yes, like an old man, I wonder how my younger self felt about it, I kind of like it now.

My family has a history in this town and it all started when my Great-grandparents moved to the Great town of Columbus Indiana, from Germany. Why the settled here in the early 1900s I couldn’t give you an answer for that, but I am sure glad they did. My Great grandpa Fred purchased the piece of land that I still live on to this day in 1932. He was also the owner of the Suhre inn right in downtown of Columbus, which is now the county building where my aunt works. Then in 1940 he and his one and only child Linda, or for me “Meme.” Who was one of the biggest role models in my life, and taught me how to live a good life. She was the one that taught me how to treat others. She wasn’t all talk if she ever said anything she made sure she could back it up.

Throughout my childhood, my dad was always a huge part of my life. Although it was difficult having divorced parents, they managed to deal with the situation as best as they could. It was hard having my dad live in either New Orleans or in Gonzales when I went to school in Baton Rouge, but somehow we made it work. He knew everyone and by everyone I mean we could not go into the mall without having to stop and talk to someone every five minutes. He was an incredible businessman, and my mom used to tell him that he could sell a ketchup popsicle to a woman in white gloves. I remember his laugh and the smell of Windex as he cleaned the house on early Saturday mornings. I always looked forward to seeing that bald shiny head and bright white smile pull up in the driveway on Thurdays at five o’clock. The day he didn’t show up, my heart broke.

Dawn til dusk, everyday, all summer long, my mother was working. Running through the halls of a hospital helping people who lost any hope of seeing tomorrow. The running didn't stop though. She would come home at night and keep exercising. My sibling, mother and I would go up and down the hills in our neighborhood. while we would take long walks, my mother always had advice for us. My mother always talked about how God created a beautiful world. She also, would say every day, “thank God for your day, it may change.” When people say change, you think of a hair cut or a new pair of shoes. Change does not only mean that, change may mean something being gone forever. Most people take everything for granted. I mean, I took everything for granted, I was only 7. The next day everything could be different. For me it was a few months before my life was upside down. I was not sure if I would ever talk to my mother again.

My life changed when my cousin was born. I always knew that I loved kids, but I never realized I could love one so much. He is like my little brother, that is now over a thousand miles away. When he was first born, I basically lived with my aunt. Whenever I had some time off of school I would be at their house. Even though I was only 12, when it came to him, I had the responsibility of an adult. When I went to visit them, I would take care of him to give my aunt a break. I would change the diapers, warm the bottles, clean the spit up, and put him back to bed. I felt as though I was taking on the role of the parent for a few hours. He was the first child that I ever truly took care of. Even though I am his cousin, he calls me his auntie. I feel like I have a special bond with him that no one else has. For a long time, I was the only one he would allow to cut his nails. I would do anything for this boy. I was there when he learned to crawl, when he took his first steps, and when he said his first words.

On January 12th, 1999, a bouncing baby boy by the name of Martin Nitzken came into the world. The hospital room was full of his loved ones who, even though he didn’t know, were going to be there for him for the rest of his days. He weighed in at nine pounds and fifteen ounces and was twenty-two inches long, quite the big boy. But it wasn’t just himself that was big, his heart was big too. For his years to come, this heart would help him to make connections with people who would eventually guide him to where he is today.

Seeing a picture of a man you’ve never met before could give you no feeling at all, but to hear it’s your biological father could be another story. This isn’t an adoption story, because my mother has always been my backbone. My father, on the other hand, is one that is indeed a unique character. When I was a little girl, I would wonder how old he was, what was his favorite color, or even what was his job. When I got older the questions changed. I started to think deeper into why he wasn’t there. Me being an optimistic bubbly little girl, I made excuses for him. “Maybe he was busy,” or “Maybe he wasn’t able to talk to me.” I even got to a point in my life where I began to blame myself. It was my fault he wouldn’t talk to me or come see me. Once I hit that point I was in desperate need of a wake-up call.

“Goodbye Daddy”. Those two simple words felt stained to my lips every time I had to say them while growing up. I was raised in a military family, with a father that was never home. My father was in Special Forces so he was constantly deployed for months on end. I think his longest deployment was probably fifteen months, maybe eighteen, I have grown to forget them by now. While growing up, I was never allowed to discuss my father’s circumstances. Not just because of how important and secretive he had to be for his job, but because I emotionally could not do it. One thing I did to keep myself from constantly crying and thinking about my dad being gone was that I put a barrier on my childhood. I would make myself forget things, important things, things my father was never there for. I can hardly remember half of my childhood because of this defense mechanism I unknowingly used while growing up. It was hard on me and it was definitely hard on a family of all girls. I began hating the military because I felt like it had taken my father away from not only me but from my family too. Another thing I did to keep myself emotionally and physically busy was that I began reading books. I was always the top reader of my schools class, no matter what school I went to. When I got to my senior year of high school, I took AP Literature. In this class, with this teacher, I gained my love and support of the military back. Mrs. Herbett was my teachers name and she introduced the book American

From this class I have learned that my family may not be as dysfunctional as I thought. There are many families out there with crazy combinations of who and what makes up their family. 1/3 of people who married have also been divorced before and people normally repartner within 3-5 years. The United States has one of the highest divorce rates, only Russia has a higher rate. My family is made up of my paternal and maternal biological families, my step father 's family and some of my step mother 's, along with my adoptive family. I have been adopted on my father 's side twice and some of their family still consider me family even though I don 't associate with either of my adoptive father 's anymore.