My Life Of A Perfect Family

1659 Words Apr 14th, 2016 7 Pages
As a naïve young girl, the idea of a perfect family comprised a biological mother, father, brother, grandmother, and grandfather. This beautiful family picture seemed nearly impossible for me while growing up considering the sad fact that one of my grandmothers’ rests in peace and the other, along with one of my grandfathers’ resided in another country. Due to that, I mounted all of my admiration on to the only grandparent figure I grew up with, my father’s dad. I held him on a pedestal since I could not with any of my other grandparent’s. I spent most of my weekends with him, listening to his jokes and poems. I thought the unsurmountable joy I received from holding a perfect family picture would never end, but it did. At the short age of ten years old, I witnessed that portrait crumble to pieces. The severity of his unspeakable act led me to forget him as my grandfather. I grew bitter and resentful, the thought of losing the only grandparent figure I held at my disposition crushed my tiny soul. As time passed, I grew forgetful of the meaning of a “grandparent.” Although I longed for the warmth of a second mother and father role model, I blinded myself to the reality that a grandparent does not necessarily need to stand blood-related. At the age of thirteen, Frédy, a senior fragile warm hearted woman pulled off the blindfold I carried around my eyes for three years and changed my definition of a “grandparent.” A true grandparent does not need your own blood as long as they…

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