My Mother : The Aspects Of My Family

To begin, the values I have about education all began from being accepted into a program which ultimately changed my view on education. I remember it clearly. I was at the dinner table when my mother yelled from across the house that my letter was there. This letter was going to determine exactly how my next year in school would be. If I were to be accepted into this program, I would skip a whole year of math. I had taken the test, and now I was awaiting the results. I opened the envelope and there it was. “You have been accepted into the Skip a Book Program!” This was just what I had hoped for! And the story continues from there. After being accepted into this program, I was placed in a learning environment where everyone was high achieving. I was not the “smart one” anymore, but rather I was “average.” During this program, I was determined to work hard and do my best, because the environment I was in encouraged me to do so.

My mommy, one of the most important people in my life, the most selfless individual I know & probably will ever know. From the moment I was born, she was the first person I fell in love with. She is indeed gorgeous, but its her soft light brown eyes that show nothing but kindness the love you get from her make you feel warm on the coldest day. My mom always worked hard to ensure that me and my sister had the best upbringing that we could get, at times she was strict and often talked to me in a stern tone whenever me or my sister made a mistake. Of course no child likes punishment, but as I got older and looked back on it I realized that she was correcting me out of love & not to scrutinize me. Me and my sister always took pride in our mother’s appearance , I especially took pride in her eyes. I remember when she would come to my school for report card pick up , I wanted to make sure everyone knew some way some how, that this beautiful creature was my mother. I’ve seen very beautiful people throughout my lifetime, but very few, match the impeccable beauty that is my mother. The main reason I was always fond of my mother, is because of the way she used to take more than great care of us, especially when one of us were sick. She is a very knowledgeable woman who knew and made different at home remedies to care for us when we fell ill. There was never a moment when we were sick that we felt uncomfortable while we were sick in her care, even the shortest back rubs would put us

I have been very fortunate to have good relationships with both my mother and my grandmother. They are two very strong and independent women who have shaped me to have this same exact mindset and attitude. I have always been very close to my grandmother, Donna Smith, after she took part in raising my brother and I when our parents divorced, so I felt comfortable interviewing her and asking her about topics that would be more difficult to talk through with strangers. She was born and raised in the 1950’s and 1960’s in Port Huron, Michigan. Her childhood was different than most people’s at the time, due to the number of children in her family and the fact that her parents did not follow the typical gender roles. She went on to marry and have children at a young age, like most women during the 60’s. She ended up working as a medical biller for decades before retiring. Although this chronology of events is similar to those of the same generation, it was very interesting to evaluate how certain aspects of her life evolved and came together to make her a distinct individual. However, there are some topics that I was nervous to ask her about or did not know how to approach. Using both what she did and did not say, I was able to determine how her relationship with her own mother, the responsibilities and expectations placed on her during her adolescence, and her decision to marry and have children early affected her choices as a mom and her beliefs on

My mother was a reader. Her favorite spot was in front of the fire on frigid days, settled with a soft sweater and her then-best friend. Words comforted her exceptionally greater than any sweater, and when reality failed, a book would always grow to fill the vacancy. She read to me in times like this, on the vicious and sinister nights when thunder raged in tantrum at the entirety of the world, or after I scuffed my skin on harsh sidewalks and even harsher people. Hercules and the Nutcracker and the Big Nutbrown Hare, who loved his son “right up to the moon — AND back,” all danced in my head on different nights, but were all sung in the same sweet cadence of my mother’s delicate voice. She sent me on my reluctant way when I eventually learned how to decipher the silent letters and the vowels, and I was encouraged to read on my own. My parents printed out a big chart — a calendar, I’ve since learned — and we picked books. I would see how fast I could read these books: how fast I traveled to Hogwarts, how expediently I found the buried treasure, how fast I sank the Titanic. I could do anything that I set myself out to do with a book, so I did it all. I was the resident Egyptian archeologist, the walking compilation of every horror book in the library, the archer from medieval England, and I knew I could be even more. So I read.

“Come here, let me hold you my little love” Bubbe always told me, and every time I’d tuck my chin to my chest and reply “Yes Bubbe” while walking towards her ginormous sofa under an equally huge painting of a white horse. Bubbe in Yiddish means grandmother something I grew up knowing. Some of my best and earliest memories are going over to her house and playing with little toys, mostly from happy meals or the dollar store. She kept them in the bottom drawer in the kitchen, so that I had easy access. We had so many different games, every time we played it was like we traveled into a different world. A wonderful place full of excitement that allowed me, at age six, to be a cashier, a restaurant owner, or even a teacher. Even though I have two other sisters who also see Bubbe I’ve always felt that we have a special bond. She’s a person that I can tell anything to. Stories about school, bad days, fights with friends. She’s always there and ready to not only listen but give advice. She has influenced me in so many ways. Bubbe taught me table manners, where all the forks go, what to eat what with, and when. She also taught me to not be afraid of trying new things, always willing to go and see new places. She gave me the opportunity to do all different activities from taking me to dance to horseback riding. It was actually Bubbe that took me to my very first dance class. We have so many memories, but there is one that stands out vividly in my mind. My grandfather, Big Daddy as

One night in the middle of December, 2014, something unexpected and monumental happened to our family. My dad and I were in a car accident. The collision wasn’t major; no one seemed seriously hurt at the time, and both vehicles were still operational. Fully expecting to move on as a family, we continued normally with life for a couple of weeks. Little did we know that my dad sustained a hidden, possibly permanent injury that took almost two years to diagnose. Although this accident changed the way our family operates, we cling to our faith in God and press on.

Growing up in a family with four siblings you would think that we would be as tight-knit as the Brady Bunch, right? Well, growing up I always felt distant from one of my older siblings, Alyssa. Before my mom and dad met, my dad was in a relationship with a woman named Raquel. Raquel is the mother of my two older siblings, Andrew and Alyssa. My dad and Raquel separated early in their lives and a short time later he met my mom. Two years after my parents got married, they expanded the family by having my older brother Martin. They then later, my younger brother Sebastian and I to the mix. Having a different mother than my two oldest siblings has always felt a little awkward. Not having the same mom caused us not to have such a personal connection with each other as siblings. Alyssa is the second oldest and 11 years older than myself. Ever since I can remember Andrew has always been the easier one to connect to. He is funny and easygoing however Alyssa is the complete opposite. She acted as if she had a heart of stone. Alyssa was harder to connect to not only because of her fiery attitude but because growing up she never showed one ounce of respect for my mom. The amount of disrespect she displayed to my mother was something I had a deep hatred for. I have always had a short fuse and witnessing her actions made me want to erupt like a volcano. Witnessing her fiery attitude and disrespect towards my mother made me distance myself from her even more. I would spend my day

When one is asked how his life lives the way that it becomes, he will always say that it was through someone else's influence. People could surely attest to this perception knowing that we are all surrounded by different individuals; those who could make or break us or those who could be the boon or bane in us.

Most of my family photo albums are packed with pictures of me with my grandmother. There she is, bathing me as a newborn, and there again, holding me as a little girl, a huge grin lighting up my face. Her name is Maria Luisa Lishner de Albertis, and though everyone has always called her Lucha, to me she has always been Mami. For every moment of my life, she’s been there: every single recital, ceremony, or event I’ve been a part of; all the home cooked meals she’d wake up early to cook for the family, even now that the memories of her favorite recipes have started to fade; and all those nights in high school when she’d hear me crying from her room, and come to sit at the foot of my bed and speak to me in her gruff yet so sweet voice. Mami has seen me at my worst and at my weakest, and not once has her quiet, under-appreciated love ever faltered.

November 12, 1998, I first laid eyes on the woman I would call my symbol for the rest of my life. “First my mother, forever my friend(unknown)”. Not everyone has a symbol like Tanya Clark, but she is everything you desire to be. Mom is unblemished when it comes to representing love, strength, and independence.

Beth a.k.a “Mama Beth” ,I know what you are thinking who calls there mom by her first name. well that’s the cool thing about my family we aren’t the average traditional family, and Mama Beth isn’t really my mom but at the same time she is. Hard to grasp the concept? yea i know how you feel. Beth is the closest thing i have to a mom at this point in time in my life she is strict and hard headed when need but caring and understanding. It was hardly even a month into my stay with Beth, Bri and Brayden when we actually started to face and understand the problems of my life. I was hurting and confused on life itself but Mama Beth was always there to guide me she gave me not only a role model but hope and love. She took me to church and help me connect with god again I remember the first time I heard her mention anything having to do with her religion.

One day, I was brought into this world with beautiful blonde hair and the sweetest baby blue eyes. Actually, my hair was barely there, I was pretty much a bald baby. I was ever so loved by my parents and had a big sister who was protective of me. I grew up with a huge extended family who loved me unconditionally. I had two great grandparents, four grandparents, five aunts, five uncles, and twenty cousins all portraying different forms of love as I grew older and older. As all people tend to pick favorites in the family, I am guilty of it as well. I got extremely attached to my paternal grandmother, Sue.

I was the one who discovered it. It was shocking and almost unbearable to see someone who I had known since kindergarten to be so full of light, draped across the bed without a speck of color. Despite her hardship in her latter years, Aimee was a character of joy, always seeing the best in everyone and everything. She had no outspoken enemies, although not everyone was as thoughtful to her as she was to them. Her only known adversaries were the boys who she always would turn down. She waited for one that would be on the same intellectual and emotional level as her, if that were even possible for a guy her age. She was reserved, yet outspoken when a voice was needed to be heard. She was caring and as graceful as can be. Always as light as a feather, even when walking down a busy hallway with her heavy books or through a crowded party, heavy-limbed from the alcohol. Her last few years of high school were rough, while the worse than usual rumors stacked up on the endless schoolwork which stacked up on her abusive father at home. Outwardly, she was still happy except on that night.

My mother had mentioned to me that her family‘s story is longer than a book, however, it is so hard for me to ask the details of what had happened to her because all the stories in her life strike a chord in her heart. For example, almost all of my father’s friends in Hong Kong were the people who escaped from communist China. Their stories were soul stirring. Many of them left their families in China. Their vicissitudes of life contained joy, sorrows, partings and reunions. My father was considered very lucky because he survived. Many of them capsized in the rough sea; some of them simply spent all of their energy and died on the way to their dream; some of them were caught by the militias or the soldiers; some of them were extradited back to China by the British government. Their families left in China suffered numerous humiliations. However, more than thirty years having passed, their stories were dim without a voice in history. Either their stories were too bitter to bring up, or they did not want to be named as a traitor to their country. During Mao’s era, and even for a while after, anyone who escaped to Hong Kong was considered a traitor and turned over to the enemy. Escaping to Hong Kong was a very sensitive topic. Therefore, we would hear these stories all the time, but we hardly ever see anything written down about what they had been through. I have lived in the United States for more than thirty years, vivid memories of my childhood still

The view of education is different for every individual. As of for me, education is the highlight of my life. I was born into a family where my grandparents and my parents did not have the opportunity to get an education. My grandparents went through a time of war, famine and communism, they struggled to stay alive. On the other hand, my parents also lived through a time of communism. My parents did not have the opportunity to get an education and pursue their dreams in their lives. My parents and grandparents later in their lives came to America as legal immigrants and were pleased to start their new lives in a country of freedom. My father, as the head of the household began taking classes to learn English, so he can start working to support his family. It was a great struggle coming to a country where no one understands you. My father worked very hard as a welder, learning English and supporting his family. My mother was a stay at home mom raising my siblings and me. My parents had ten children. My mother was not able to get an education in America because she was working very hard raising her children. An addition to her hard work, as a house wife, my mother fought for my brother’s life that was battling brain cancer. My father worked long hours and worked very hard to support his family and spend many hours at the hospital with my sick brother. Watching my parents struggling, gave me a great desire to be different, and purse a career that was right for me, so one day I