One early morning thirteen years ago, my parents had gone off to go to work. I would be upstairs watching Zoboomafoo in my room and I could hear the door slam shut from my room on the second floor. It was a couple of weeks before I had started my first day in Kindergarten. My uncle Francisco, who was nineteen years old, was taking care of my little brother Luis, who was two, and I; I was five years old. Once my parents would step out the door it all began. My uncle would start acting really immature. At first, he would take us to the downstairs room that was by the kitchen and would start yelling for no reason. You could not really hear much from the room, which is why I assumed he took us there. Luis was the youngest, so he was an easy target. He didn't say much nor defended himself because he didn't really know what was happening. The yelling would frighten my little brother. My uncle would scream “ no one likes you” and “ no one cares about you” at Luis, which really hurt his feelings. Luis would just stay quiet and pout. Everything I was told as a kid a took it to heart because why wouldn't I believe the things that were told to me. As a kid, I believed everything that someone would say, I would believe if they older than me. My dad would tell me “there's a giant spider on your head” and I would believe him. It's just the trust I had an older individual, made me believe what they said was true. So when my uncle intended to hurt my brother’s feelings it would hurt
My mom and her boyfriend at the time, would continue to argue nearly every day. It got to the point, to where I tried running away from the apartment multiple times, of course, I never succeeded. At the age of 10 I experienced fighting between my dad and step-mom. In the beginning I thought it was only a 1-time thing. But as it continued, I realized it wasn’t. Me, having to deal with fighting before, stepped- in to break up the fight to protect my siblings. The fights were always verbal, but I didn’t want my siblings to witness what I have had to many times before. I would take my siblings downstairs, my little sister being 3 years younger than me, and my brother by 10 years. I hoped it would at least help them, instead of developing a corrupted
Ellie and I lay in our beds, neither one of us knew what to say. In the other room, our host parents were arguing. We didn’t know what about, but we knew it was serious. Then we heard a “THWACK” followed by silence. Ellie and I sat up in our beds and looked at each other, I could tell she was as scared as I was. “Was that? Did he just?” she asked me. Then the arguing started back up again. We calmed back down until we heard it again. “THWACK” We knew then, the noise we heard, was him beating her. We got up, our hearts racing; neither of us knew what to do. We got our nerves together to go get help. When we opened the door to our room we saw the children sitting on the couch crying out for their mother. I could see the fear in their face and I knew something needed to change.
It wasn’t until the morning of Saturday, May 21, 2016 that I realized what the true feeling of unconditional love was. The moment a parent looks into his or her child’s eyes there is just so much love it’s unbelievable. People think they know what love is when they love a significant other, family member, or a close friend; however, that love is nothing compared to the love a parent experiences the day his or her child is born. That is the love I felt the moment I placed my beautiful baby boy on my chest.
I started my day like I had every day for the previous seven months. Wondering if today would end with me laying ice cold and lifeless in a coffin. Seven months prior, I got my first E.K.G., I found out there was something drastically wrong my heart. Spontaneously, my heart would beat at a vigorous pace exceeding far past a normal heart rate. These spontaneous fits of speed were impossible to control and felt as though I was slowly being stabbed in the heart by a dull and rotten blade. Every breath I took would plunge the knife deeper into my chest. Then, at the point where I felt as though my heart may erupt out of my chest it would finally slow. I would catch my breath and my day would continue. I lived in a consistent cycle of fear and acceptance that each day could be my last. I feared the day may come that my accelerated heart rate may not slow down. Finally seven months later, the doctors were able to diagnose me with Supraventricular Tachycardia. I was immediately scheduled for surgery.
It was the first day of school and for the past 5 years of elementary school i could sleep in because school started late but now school starts at 8:00 so I have to wake up early to get on the bus Over the summer i had moved to a new house and which meant i had to switch districts and now have to make new friends. Hopefully I wouldn’t get picked on because normally in my old school the new kids had always gotten picked on because they didn't know anyone and wouldn't have any friends. I quickly got up because i didn't want to be late on the first day of school.
Every Sunday, since the day I was born has been a day to spend with God, family and the people I love. Bright and early every Sunday morning my older brother Blake, Alex, younger brother Stephen and I would be woken up for the early morning service at St. Paul 's Lutheran church. My mother would have breakfast ready for my father, brothers and I by 6 o 'clock in the morning so that we were fed and ready for the 8 o 'clock service. After church, we would go grocery shopping or run any errands that needed to be done. Then we would go back to the house and change out of our nice clothes. By the time church and the errands were finished it was usually lunch time. We would drive over the river to Moline, Illinois where my grandmother lives and
While he sat on his old wooden chair, I watched the man who held me from birth slowly deteriorate before my own eyes. We sat in the veranda, played dominoes, and talked for hours, as we both enjoyed doing. Smiling from ear to ear, I rejoiced over my victory. After congratulating me, he looked at me and said, “God made you special and don’t ever let anyone make you feel otherwise. Remember to appreciate every aspect about yourself. You are a blessed child”. What seemed as a random comment would soon be of great importance to me for the rest of my life.
It was the first day of school and I just was so excited about who was going into be in my class I was also nervous. That what I was thinking. I went upstairs and got dressed and brushed my hair and my teeth.
The teacher called me in class and I was terrified to answer. It was my third day in my senior year when the teacher was in front of the class and she asked something to the class. I knew the answer and she saw that I had my hand half raised to answer. As soon as she called my name I felt the whole class started to stare at me. Somehow, I managed to give the right answer but it took all that I had to overcome my deep fear.
Today was the day. The day that would change my entire perspective on anything and everything that had to do with my dad. Since my parents were divorced, weekly visits to my dad's house were pretty much mandatory at the ages of eight and eleven. Eight was how old my little brother was and at that age you knew stuff without actually knowing stuff. By that I mean, my brother knew only the surface of our father, the side that my father wanted him to see. So he didn’t understand all the other things that were going on in our organized yet chaotic life. But neither did anyone else for that matter. Maybe because they didn’t know the full story. But then again, no one ever really got the full story. They either assumed or just didn’t care enough to get involved, but how could one blame them?
The first day of school, running in school with tears in my eyes, shredded with a wound in my heart because of my parents, dropping me off at school and leave me all alone. It was only me sitting at the corner of the entry door, all I see is strangers, run around screaming, jumping, and chasing playing with balls. Then, I started to wonder around the school, as happy as I was when I see there are foods. I lowered my backpack, reach for a couple of bucks which my mom gave me in the morning if I want to buy something to eat or drink. Afterward, I continue walking.
I never imagine of going to school the next day because I would imagine putting myself in other people place from being from a different school and going all the way to the East Noble Middle School to be in 7th grade. I imagine being by myself on the first day because I know that my friends will just leave me alone on the first. I never seen 7th grade coming so fast to me i was just a kid in grade school first but now I am walking in my dreams to the school where I found myself alone and no one there with me.
The day started off pretty good, the birds were chirping, the grass was green, it was a beautiful August morning. I was listening to my happy, epithalamic, and soothing music before I had to leave. It was the first day of school, we had just moved to Parma from Seattle Washington. I never really had trouble with making friends, so I was fervid to meet new people. The city seemed perfect for me. I felt untrammeled and joyous in my new neighborhood. The city gave me a great aesthetic pleasure. I expected the school to feel the same. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
It was the last day of school with less an hour left on the clock. I had my eyes glued to the clock counting down the seconds, each minute felt like an hour, and right now I wish that was true.
After what seemed like the longest day of my life, I got home from school – the most dreadful place imaginable to the average teenager – and lugged myself as well as my backpack full of heavy books and overdue assignments through the front door of my apartment. Not being able to take another step, I dropped my bag and the weight of a long strenuous day off my shoulders and crawled into the living room. There I lied trying not to think about the mountain of homework I had yet to finish, all while my body searched for the tiniest shred of energy to get up, dust myself off, and continue with the rest of my day. Not even a few seconds went by when suddenly, I heard a loud, “YOU’VE GOT MAIL!” booming from my computer speakers. As if rising from