My Memories Of My Childhood

In june 1994 my mama found out that she was pregnant, this was a shock because my mom wasn’t suppose to be able to birth another child. I became the little miracle growing inside her. The doctor told my parents he was going to do everything he could so I could live, he was a christian man and he told her “we’re going to pray that God does a miracle.” December 5th 1994, a c-section was performed and I was born a premature baby that weighed 2.5 pounds.

My earliest memory of my childhood has to be the first major fight my parents had that has been seared into the memories of my childhood. We all hate to see our parents fight and usually when I would witness my parents fight I would block it out because “mommy and daddy will always love each other no matter what.” They would tell me that over and over again no matter how bad their fights got. I yearn so badly to tell my younger self not to hang on to that idea of love because that idea in the end wasn’t really love at all.

The sheer terror of losing a loved one as a child is devastating and often effects the way the child feels for years to come. During the evening of August 27th, 2002 I was making dinner with my grandmother. She was making my sister and me favorite pancakes. I loved spending time with my grandmother, because she always had unconditional love for our entire family. We set the table ate our enormous dinner and then we cleaned up the dishes and proceeded to the couch. While on the couch she supplied me with a snack of popcorn and read to me. After reading the book, my parents, sister and I left the house to go home. Little did I know, as I lay sleeping cozily in my bed, that a phone call would come into my mother, virtually changing the course

As I rolled over in bed to look at my clock through blurry eyes, I immediately became wide-awake, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. Who would call my house at one o’clock in the morning? The feeling of fear filled my whole body, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head as I stumbled my way through the dark, and out of my room. As I entered the hallway, I noticed the light was on in my parents’ room and I heard a sobbing voice that belonged to my mom. I could barely hear the words that were coming out of my mom's mouth. It was as if I was getting farther and farther away, her voice becoming more distant; my legs felt weak and my vision became blurry. There I stood, in my parents room shaking uncontrollably, my whole world coming to an end as I was told that one of the most important people in my life had passed

Four years ago on a cold eerie night during Halloween; my family and I went to Scarborough downs for a haunted hayride. While we were waiting in line, the smell of hot coffee and warm cider made me giddy. My parents were hesitant on bringing me at first because I was scared easily. But, this time it was different; I had convince them to letting me go with them. We go there and my composed demeanor was loss like a paper in the wind. I was acting like I was not scared though my brother sensed that I was scared. At this moment my brother went to the bathroom. I was too worried about the ride that I did not released a few minutes later he came back; he ran up behind me and whispered in my ear “You won't see tomorrow”. I slapped him and ran behind

After years of being tossed around, being introduced to people I didn’t know, staying the night in houses I’d never been in, and constantly watching my dad getting into intense arguments with other people, I grew to hate staying with my dad. After he started dating my stepmother, I was around two other kids of hers to play with and a shared apartment to visit. Most of the family cats were taken away which also made me cry. I’m starting to realize why I can’t remember most of my childhood. I repress everything I’m embarrassed or ashamed of until I forget about it. Well, that got sad. Back to some happier memories! Most of these more upsetting memories occurred when I lived with my grandmother. When I was about seven, I moved to the town part of Wauseon, the house I live in now. Being in an apartment was very new to me after living in the country for most of my life. The neighbors upstairs were always changing. There would be a month of complete silence until we managed to catch them outside while taking out the trash. For a couple of my younger years, I suspected that the second apartment was haunted when I saw a silhouette in the window, when I was sure the old neighbors had moved out. After taking time to

Over that agonizing February, while my family stayed by my grandfather’s side, I remained home trying to succeed in school. I was intentionally left out of the conversation to protect my emotions. However, being shielded from the situation only lead to pain because I was left with nothing but assumptions and fears. I later discovered that my grandfather nearly died during his time in the hospital. He was on the verge of death, and I was left in the dark. That sense of dread while I was alone accounted for a significant amount of my

I spent a year in the foster care system. My foster home was an old creaky house. The room I slept in was at the top of the stairs, third door on the left. I was the only one in my room, it was the only thing I had that was just mine. It was quiet, great for thinking. Early in the morning the sun would streak across the dark hardwood floor and reflect off the white walls, showing all the dust particles in the air. It may have smelt, as many old houses do, of must and mildew, but that morning I did not care. I was about to taste freedom. It was the morning I would leave to live with my mother full-time. Before I left, I sat on my hard mattress with its scratchy tan sheets one last time and reflected on all the events that had led up to this point.

This was my earliest memory. I was four years old and it was around the time of Christmas. Me and my brother David were in the kitchen eating our snack at the brown breakfast table we always ate at before we went to preschool. My mom was putting up the the decorations on the christmas tree in the living room that was adjacent to our kitchen and just a step down. She always put up these tiny plastic houses, old shops and tiny churches - usually on the top above our television case - that were covered in snow and would light up when you plugged them into the wall and you could always see the little figures through the tiny windows. She always used fluffy white cotton fabric that she would place around the little houses to imitate snow. She also would always put up the scene of Jesus in the manger with the wise men and the barn animals which too would light up. These were always pleasing to look at and help set up. My dad was outside putting the yellow lights on the gutter of our white house - “white house” is how we always remembered our house back in Madison Wisconsin. We were not big into decorations when it came to holidays like halloween where we would just carve a few pumpkins, but when christmas came my parents seemed to enjoy decorating the most.

I have a vivid memory of my grandma and myself when I was 6 years old. This was the only time as a child I was able to keep my eyes open on the “grown up” part. The movie was “What’s Love got to do With It” and there was a graphic domestic violence scene. The Woman in the scene was being beat by her husband, I remember being so scared. My grandmother sat me on her lap, looked at me sternly and made me promise no matter what never let a man put his hands on me. I made the promise then not knowing what she was asking of me. She was asking me to stop a vicious generational cycle. Months later that promise meant so much more than the connection to that movie scene. It became my reality.

My grandma has brown hair with light brown highlights, she is dark skinned, with brown eyes, she is a big people person and does everything to make everyone happy. She works for a dentist and says she would retire if I wasn't hers, she is 56 and still getting shorter. My papa on the other hand is light skinned, has reddish brown hair, blue eyes, he is a controlling but sweet person and he likes things his way, he is retired now and loves it, he is 58 years old, he can't see very well so he's always squinting or has glasses on. I don’t live with my parents or sister but they are still a part of my life. My mom is tan, with brown eyes with reddish hair. She is loving and doesn’t care about what people think. My mom stays at home most of the time to keep my niece Kinley while my sister is at school. My dad looks a lot like my papa except skinnier and has green eyes, “he is a Tosto” my grandma says by that she means he’s just as hard headed as my pa and I. Katie my sister is 17 and raising a child she has dirty blond hair. She is very protective about the people she loves and will do anything for them. I’m the youngest out of my family but I’ve kinda grown up as an only child because it’s just my grandparents and me at the house. My grandma gets her dark skin from her parents because both of them are cherokee indian, my papa on the other hand is very light skinned he gets this from his irish and scottish roots.

Something I believe that has been memorable in my life was losing my great grandma and remembering all the things she taught me. Almost all of my favorite child hood memories were with her. Aside from the fun and games though, she could be stern and hard on my brother and me. When I was younger, I didn’t understand it, but now, I realize that at the time in which she grew up her environment made her that way. My great grandma, grew up in the forties, times were hard money wise and obviously, that put some pressure on her parents.

It is hard to recall which one of my memories is actually the first because there are so many. However, as I tried to decide between various different memories there was one that stuck out to me. The memory itself is a little bit foggy, but I can remember that I was extremely young. It must have been a weekend because both of my parents were home, and I can remember the sun shining through the windows in my house. I was in my room playing and dancing around, watching myself in the mirror. I heard my mom scream out for help and I dashed down the hallway, through the living room and kitchen where I found my mom on the stairs. She was about halfway down the stairs and had something resting on her lap. I remember being frightened as I rushed down the stairs to see what had happened. Her screams were loud and dramatic and I wondered why my sister and father were not there. I realized that the item on her lap was a laundry basket full of towels, she had fallen on her way to the laundry room. I tried to help my mom, but as little as I was there was not much to do. My mom explained for me to go get my dad or sister because she was hurting. I then also began yelling, looking for my family. I found my dad downstairs on the couch snoring, he had slept through the incident. When I woke him and explained that mom needed him, he was not as concerned as I expected. He got up slowly, saying “I’m coming, I’m coming” as I ran back to sit with my mom. I held her hand, worried, until both my

As early as I can remember my grandparents, whom my sisters and I called Mum and Pa were and are the most important people in my life. I have two sisters, my twin Kristine and my younger sister Debbie. I don’t have many memories of my dad and the one’s I do recall aren’t really nice ones, he was an alcoholic who wasn’t home much and when he was my mother and him would argue and end with him hitting her. Growing up I always felt that my mom favored my twin Kristine (not much as changed) and that my father favored Debbie, so where did this leave me. We lived in a suburban city and most days and nights my mother worked second and third shifts, probably so she wasn’t home when our father returned late at night drunk. My parent’s situation left the three of us alone quite often if it wasn’t for our amazing grandparents. Similar to the way I felt about the favoritism being shown was the same way my sisters felt about the relationship I had with our grandparents. The numerous occasions I ran away from home to a phone booth to call my grandfather to come get me, staying at their house for days just being happy and feeling special. We didn’t live in the best houses, I remember one home that used to be my fathers aunt and uncles house when we walked home from school with friends they would want to know what house and at first my sister and I would just say “oh it’s down there”. Finally, when I was in seventh grade my mother left our dad and we moved in with my grandparents.

I am always excited to go to Los Angeles to visit my aunts and cousins. Although I prefer solitude to being surrounded by my rather large family, it is quite invigorating to give in to the affection of those closest to me and allow myself time to reminisce on my childhood, for the moments I spent with them are my happiest memories yet. Because of my solitary disposition, I came to the conclusion that I would never have children of my own at a very young age. I know I appreciate the occasional company of my family much more than I do a permanent lingering. However, I am certain that my disposition was not the only influence at play in my decision. The odious notion that Latinas have the tendency to birth children like rabbits instilled in me the resolution that I will never be a part of it.