My Life Of My Mother

My mother is mestiza, my father is mestizo, my brother is mestizo, my tias, my tios, as am I. All mestizos. I’ve been told I am worthy of praise because I carry your language on my tongue without an accent, because I had an American education, because I can recite allegiance to your country. I am told I am worthy because I could assimilate to the culture, unlike my parents. I am often presented with shocked faces when I speak my second language, English, faces that always tell me that they would have never guessed I spoke so perfectly, thinking they’d have to work twice as hard to understand my heavy, foreign accent—the same accent my parents have. On top of that, I am the color of the sun reigning on my skin. I found from my 17 years here, it does not matter whether you are the color of milk or whether I speak English without an accent, the moment I speak Spanish and invite someone outside of my culture into my home and they notice I have Caso Cerrado on TV or see my mother swinging her hips to Vicente Fernandez, I am no longer White to them or “an insider.” I am other, an outsider. A “dangerous” outsider. “Ni de aqui, ni de aca.” “Ni de aqui,” not White enough, deemed too Mexican. “Ni de aca,” not Mexican enough, mestiza, and too whitewashed.

When I was about five years old I had something happen to me that would change forever. My life before this was not the best and was really confusing to understand and that was because I was always moving into different houses with my mom and would always have a new dad which as a little kid you don’t really know what is going on and have to just deal with it. My mother was not the best and did not take really good care of me.

On January 29, 2001 at around four o’clock in the afternoon, a beautiful little girl named Leslie Arreaga was born. It was the first time I was able to hold and see a baby so up close. When I saw her for the first time I didn’t know what to say. All I told my parents was “ I love her and she is perfect.” My parents laugh at me because I was only four years old when she was born. I just couldn’t believe that I was finally an older sister. I remember that every time a person would come in and try to hold her I would give them a look saying “ If you hurt her, I will hurt you.” Leslie was the most precious little baby I had ever seen in my little four year life. She was so chubby, with big brown eyes and a little heart shaped mouth. The day my

As a kid I only got to see my dad on the weekends and those were the best days I had, I never understood why I couldn't live with my father full time because my mom never lived a stable life. My mother wasn’t as bad as it seems, she always made sure we had food and somewhere to stay even if it wasn't the greatest, even living with my mom my dad still paid for almost everything I had. When I was about 8 years old I lived in Mccomb and it was my dads weekend and I was so excited to get off of school and go see him, When I got home I was shocked to find everything packed up and my mom told me to get in the car, I was so upset to find out that me, my two brother, and her and her boyfriend were off to Florida. The whole trip to Florida I balled my eyes out and all I remember was that I kept saying that I wanted to live with my dad and that I hated my mom, I wondered how she could just up and leave without telling my

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.

My first memory was sitting in my dads old, gray pickup staring at the stars as he drove the highways back home. Tired from a day of stressful travel, when in previous hours I was on a leash led by my mom in the airport. My dad has always created a sanctuary everywhere he went, which was a vital skill growing up with a homeless father. My parents began their long unpleasant divorce when I was two, whereas my dad was gifted a restraining order entering the house. I didn’t see him for months until he was granted permission to pick me up from preschool with a bottle of chocolate milk in his warm hands. Their divorce created a hole in everyone’s lives that each of us tried to fill separately. Mom was never home, working three jobs, going to school full time, and filling that hole with cigarettes, beer, and boyfriends. My sister filled it with endless sleepovers and friends, while I had three friends that I never saw outside of school.

On November 17,1989 my mother Juanita Renea Ohlinger went into labor at 6:00 A.M. she was in labor for 12hrs. She laid there in so much pain at Providence hospital until Dr. Kendal Foster showed up and told her she had to have a C-section because her pelvis would not expand. The nurse hooked my mother up to monitors and willed her to the operating room, my father Raymond F Smith was dressed in hospital operating clothes. Dr. Foster began to open my mother’s womb and pulled me out at 5:25 pm.

I grew up in a very poor neighborhood hood, so everyday for me was difficult not knowing if I will eat or sleep on the streets. I can remember the moment where my father abandoned my mother and I. I was very young at the time I had just turned 7 years old. My father and mother had a very unhappy relationship it was very easy to tell they were not happy. I remember it was a Monday, November 4, 2002 my mother was staying with my aunt because my aunt was diagnosed with cancer and my mother was helping her out. It was my birthday I was so excited that day because I was suppose to get a gift from my father. I woke up that morning ran quickly to his room to find him not there, I ran outside thinking he was fixing his car or just rebuilding the birdhouse

Deep blue water surrounding all around me. My lungs were filling up with water when this lady grabbed me out of the lake. As i'm gasping for air i see my nine month pregnant mom

Growing up in my house hold was almost like any other; my dad went to work every day early in the morning and came home around six o’clock and my mom a stay at home mom who took care of her six children myself included of course. Until late August of 2005 that is when my whole life changed in just a flash. It was a normal Saturday morning or so I thought: I was watching cartoons in my room waiting for breakfast when all of a sudden I heard a loud scream and crying coming from my parent’s room and heard my mom shout to my second eldest brother “Jeff call the Pastor NOW!” I got up and ran into their room and watched as my mom sobbed into my dad’s arms wrapped around her and tears filled his eyes as well. In that moment I knew something was horribly wrong. I looked up and got the courage to ask what was wrong and my dad told me the news. My brother, who was eight years older than me, had passed away that morning. Nothing was the same after that our family was no longer whole.

My mom and I walked out into the cold wet morning and walked on till what felt like hours. Without any explanation, as to what was happening I quietly stayed to her side. I could see the broken look on her face, of someone who had lost everything. It can be hard to explain to a child what divorce was and until I got older I still did not understand the concept fully. One of my earliest memories is waiting in line at age 7 with my mom at a crowded location. We were at the Department of Public Social Services. I stood with my notebook in hand and a pencil wanting so badly to leave and go home. Where was home exactly I did not know because we had moved across the country from Atlanta to Los Angeles after the divorce. A new beginning was what my

Later that evening I received a letter from my mom. I sat around the camp fire with all the other girls trying to fit in and not be seen. I held the letter in my hands trying not to get my hopes too high. For all I knew, all this letter said was “I love you, I’ll see you soon. Love mom.” There was no guarantee that I would be pulled from that hole of depression. Relying on faith alone that my mom somehow knew

My parents divorced for over eighteen years now and my mother raising seven children on her own. As far as I could remember my childhood consisted of being scared and the police. Those who knew my family stared at us differently. From her I learned my strength and commitment for better. At the age of sixteen I fell in love with the most precious

My mother is the most diligent worker I know and I highly respect her for that. My mom, sister, and I moved across the globe to find better opportunities for jobs and Education. She worked two jobs as a single mother, and was still able to take care of and support my sister and me in anything we aspired to do. Being a mother itself is difficult enough because it is an everyday job with no brakes or vacation. She is the person who inspires me and the person who motivates me to do my best at everything I do. To her, my sister and I’s happiness was worth more to her than her own and for that I truly believe she is the best person in the world.

I was born on September 7, 2002 at Licking Memorial Hospital. My measurements were seven pounds, fourteen ounces. So all I know is that my birth mom didn’t have enough money to take care of me at the time. That’s when my grandparents came into the picture. My grandparents took care of me from the time I was 2 weeks old to now.