My Father And Father : The Father Of The Father

After reading each of the sample essays I decided that I was going to write about the ones I connected to. Brian Musser "My Father's Son", Kelley Pheng "Small Asain Women", and Michelle Andreetta "Life with Marvin" are the essays that I can relate to.

One late summer night when I was 11, my father came in my room and told me he would be leaving for a while. That entire summer I was confused on where he was and what he was doing, all I could find where small clues about my father’s whereabouts ; such as my step-mom crying as she found secret bank accounts, hidden phones, and other peculiar pieces of information. There were whispers between the adults in the family but being 11 I assumed it did not concern me. The end of that summer, my father came home and told the rest family that he was in a drug and alcohol rehabilitation facility. I was shocked, before he remarried my father was all I had left since my mother died when I was a toddler, but he was now clean and was ready to mend the family.

Sitting in the small white room with my mother and sister that night I clasped my hands tightly in my lap and looked down. We were in the basement of a homey yet outdated Lutheran church that hosted an Al-anon group every Tuesday. Chairs were set neatly in a circle and as people started to filter in there were many hugs exchanged. I had come reluctantly to Al-anon not expecting much. I knew my relationship with my step-dad could never be fixed. I felt sad, angry, and quite frankly, I felt bad for myself. Although my mom, dad, and stepdad were all alcoholics, they had all been sober for some twenty years or so. That being said, I still knew alcohol never released its grip on a family. A nice looking older lady came up to my sister and I and

At twelve my life shattered, since my father’s arrest for his third consecutive DUI my mother announced she was disassociating herself from their marriage after he had persistently pushed her beyond her limits which in sanity lays due to his years of heavy alcohol and drug addiction. My mother’s physiognomy and heart hardened as she removed herself from the dream home she had bought with my father just months prior. The love my father possessed for my siblings and I paled in comparison to the anguish he experienced. Consequently, to cope with the pain, my father would envelop himself in the world of forgetfulness through intoxication of varying degrees making

While packing a suitcase in my room with the door closed, an envelope was slipped under the door into my room.

The short story is about a Sunday walk in the country taken by a young boy and his father. Written in first person, it appears simple in nature, but it is actually a more complex story that is depicted by the author. In his story, “ Father and I”, Paar Lagerqvist uses imagery and symbolism to say that although as children we have unwavering faith in our parents and that our world basically revolves around them, at some point as we grow, we realize that there is more to life than this sheltered world.The story begins on a perfect, bright Sunday afternoon. A father and son wave goodbye to the mother who is preparing supper, and they head into the woods to enjoy the sounds of the birds and adventure by the railroad tracks. As the young boy and his father are admiring the beautiful songs of the finches and warblers, a train comes rushing along the tracks. Although the train came buzzing by quickly enough to startle the little boy, his father saluted the familiar conductor and re-established the peacefulness of the Sunday afternoon. As dusk begins to fall, the child begins to feel uneasy about being in the darkening woods. The young boy’s fear grows, but his father remains calm and collected. Then out of nowhere a mighty roar of a black train tore through the abyss awakening the two out of their quiet state. The black train pierced through the night at a frantic speed and the father tells his son that he did not recognize the driver. This added to the son’s uneasiness and

The man that I admire more than anyone else is my dad, Bryan J. McCormick. My dad has a love for his family like nobody I’ve ever met before. My dad is my shoulder to lean on. My father is a self-made man, with the strongest willpower of anyone I have ever met. He has taught me what it means to be a hard worker and the value of a dollar. But most importantly, my dad is a man of God. Respect is a very important thing and my father is the man who taught me what it feels like to not be respected and that no matter what I should always treat everyone I meet with respect.

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.

William Shakespeare once said, “When a father gives to a son, both laugh; when a son gives to a father, both cry.” Fathers are a symbol to not only me but the rest of the world, whether good or bad. They make us who we are today, and give us the tools we need to succeed in life. Around November of 2015 there was a lot of talk on the news about ISIS, and the destruction they were causing in the middle east. They were taking control of different countries, and beheading thousands of Christians. My family and I are Christians and during that time there was a lot of fear for the country and for the people that were Christians in the middle east. Each night felt like someone had been beheaded by a member of ISIS and the news was horrific. I began to ponder a what was going in my life and who could I ask for some advice. I asked my dad one night “ Why does God allow terrible things to happen to good-hearted people, and allows violence to occur ” He then replied saying, “This world is filled with angry people and sin, when you put those two things together it causes destruction. God doesn’t let those people just die for nothing he has a plan for each and every one of us, and a time when we leave this world.” When my father told me this I understood perfectly, this advice led me to reflect and remember that God’s in control. This gave me hope that even though the world is dark I can still be a light. My dad has been a big part of my life and has made me

My stepfather, who I call father, once told me that parenting only required love not DNA. Throughout my life I always found myself in a place where I wondered why my biological father never made the effort to see me, not once, but makes time for his other kids every day. Due to my biological father’s abandonment on my mother and I, there has always been a sense of not good enough in my life, it felt like I was trying to fill up a cup with tiny holes in it. The more water I put in the cup the more just seemed to pour out. However, when my father (stepfather) came into the picture it was like I was brought a brand-new actual cup that I could actually fill up without worries. There has never been a time with him that he did not try to give me the best he could or made me feel any different for not being his biological kid. I have always been blown away with the genuine love I receive from this him as times went from changing my diapers to helping me move into college.

Growing up from a family of 4 me being the youngest watched my daddy walk out my life like I wasn’t an option. So, the streets became my father. I did everything under the sun, even made my mam cry. I felt like everybody was out to get me. Family became enemies, friends start to envy the streets had got so hot. All my friends start going to jail so only thing was left for me to leave the hood for a while before I become dead or in jail.

One of my biggest influences in my life is my own father, Terry Koch. My dad was like a best friend to me when I was growing up. He was incredibly strong, kind and funny. He instilled a lot of the values I have in me today, starting at a young age. Terry was a fighter. He battled with his own body throughout his life. Only later did I find out that he was a sickly child; I thought his illnesses came about later in his lifetime. When I was about nine or ten, he was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis, among a series of other lung-related illnesses. At the time, we lived in Colorado. The altitude didn’t do him any favors and within a month he was on oxygen 24/7. The doctors from Denver told him that he had maybe a year to live. They recommended that we move to somewhere closer to sea level; the air would be easier to breathe if we did. So only a year after completing his lifelong dream of building a “dream house” and moving in, we packed up and moved to Santa Cruz. Yet when we got there, he not only went off oxygen for a while, he ended up toughing it out for another eight years.

As I looked up with my arms wide open asking “Uppie uppie?”..my father says “Okay EB, one last time” as he picked me up and held me, I noticed his gestures. Ever since I was young, I’ve always had the power of observing and memorizing what surrounded me. Then, it hit me. The strange characteristics my father held. His aggressive temper, the impatient OCD, the odd jokes directed at my mother, the constant blaming as if he never made mistakes. Twas the night time that I dreaded the most. His time to “shine”. His enjoyment was down in the basement watching either football or baseball and through the thin walls I could hear that snap of a beer can opening. Every single night. I was about eleven years old when I finally connected the dots. Those dots meant everything but also meant nothing. My father is an alcoholic. At this developing age, I never understood

The person who makes sure I have a roof over my head, who kisses me goodnight, who shows me unconditional love every single day, my dad. My father has made a huge impact on my life throughout my fourteen years of living. Through the good and the bad he has stuck by my side, and not only my side, but also the side of his other five children. Many hardships have come in and out of my family’s lives and it astonishes me as I see my dad fight through them. Many things have contributed to me admiring my father, and I am glad I see my father with amiable eyes.

My father is my inspiration, motivator and the actor of my life. I am so sorry Dad! at the very last moment of your life I could not even say you bye. I had a mountainous pile of dream to share with you, to discuss with you but all curiosity remained unresolved. I know you were excited to see your grandson that you hadn’t met since his birth. Thats the reason I was flying to Nepal as soon as possible but unfortunately we can’t meet due to almighty. You flew away before I reached to you. You left this world without meeting me and your grandson forever. I felt so wretched Dad. I was teared, cracked and broken down to the road. I wasn’t able to give you the physical attachment with my son to whom you were waiting for a long time to feel, to see and to touch. I had dream of seeing your happiness after putting him on your lap. I was thinking that you would laugh at him, enjoy with his innocents and would forget your physical tiredness and pain.