My Mother 's Side Of The Family

One weekend, we had decided to clean out the house to surprise my mother. My father found papers stashed away that revealed theft charges; my mother had stolen medication when she substituted for the nurse in my elementary school. I remember my dad scouring the house for more evidence, even finding a stash of pill bottles under their mattress. She had another court date coming up that he learned about, just a few weeks before a family trip to Disney. Shortly after that hearing, my family took our last vacation as a whole, knowing that a key member would be lost to us the Monday after our return; she was going into work-release for two months. Before the end of those sixty days, my father learned that my mother had been unfaithful. Their marriage ended, and at eleven and nine, my sister and I said what we didn't realize would be goodbye to our mother for a great while. Her drug abuse continued, and months of time would pass between visits. We saw that sweet, ideal mother devolve into an addict. This loss has shaped me greatly, and it has taught me integrity, strength of character, and great love for others; without these things, my mother cost herself her family and

I have come from a well-meaning but very scarring, ambivalent and dysfunctional family. My father was a sometimes physically, but often times very emotionally abusive person. Using a large amount of fear and intimidation of him to control our family and home. My mother regularly took out her anger and frustration towards my father on me since my parent’s first major separation when I was seven years old which in conjunction with the negative impact of my parents’ off and on separations leading up to their eventual divorce I developed depression, anger and other behavioral problems as well. I suffered many years of abuse from my mother as a result of these things. I understood both my parents cared for me, even though their actions often time both demonstrated it and contradicted it which lead to much confusion in relationships and friendships outside of my family. One of if not the most scarring experiences were of my mother and the adults she surrounded herself with sympathizing her abuse towards me because of the abuse she endured by my father and

My father is from Yugoslavia. I have very early memories in childhood of knowing that I was a first generation American. I am Croatian and this culture is huge on family. I remember being constantly at family functions that seldom involved people outside of the family and the neighbors (on the block we lived). I actually believed that all of my neighbors were family members and all were Croatian. I didn’t realize that the neighbors or other people had different nationality and/or backgrounds until I was a pre-teen. My neighborhood (the block) was diverse for the Southside of Chicago in 1960’s and 1970’s. I was exposed to Lebanese, Jordanian, Hispanic, German, Irish, and Korean culture from the time I was a small child but I didn’t know that the culture was different from being Croatian; I felt that it was the norm. I didn’t realize the difference until I entered high school.

Generations upon generations of people have been thriving in Spanish speaking countries. Cuba is no different, through traditional clothing and special holidays they always are in tune with the past. With flamboyant traditional attire, that rivals the suns bright color and Spring flowers, coupled with fun to watch free flowing up beat music like Guaguancó or Pachanga, the Cuban culture is very exciting. In order to start to describe my family ties with Cuba, I will use an analogy: With every spin of a vibrant dress it seems as if the hands of time slowly turn back time. As the clock goes back so does my family history. In the early 1920's my great grandmother and her family made the trip from Spain to Cuba. Ever since then my family has had bearings

To the outside world, I appear to belong to the Traditional White Nuclear Family culture, but my family included co-cultures and subcultures that were rare in the suburban south.

If you're the mother of an African-American child then you'll appreciate my struggle. You know the one of washing and combing your African-American child's hair. Madison was born with a head full of hair and the older she got, the thicker it became. Our hair is characterized by numbers, with the higher number, the kinkier the hair is. Like most of my kids, Madison has different textures throughout as we're a mixture of heritage. My maternal great-grandmother was European from Portugal, while my paternal side of the family are Carib Indians who originate from the Caribbean, so while she does have kinky hair, it's also curly with looser curls. Nevertheless, it can be hard to manage especially after washing. You may remember me saying that I very

My family originated from China. China is located in Southeast Asia, bordering India, Russia, Afghanistan, and other countries. China is the third largest country after Canada and Russia. However, China is the world 's most populated country with the population of 1.357 billion. The official language spoken in Mainland China is Mandarin. However, there are seven main dialects in China including Mandarin, Cantonese, Hakka, Wu, Min, Xiang, and Gan.

According to the 2010 U.S census, the percentage of multiracial American children has increased almost 50%, to 4.2 million, in the last ten years. It’s interesting to think of myself as one of those statistics. While my mom and her side of the family is American, my dad and his side of the family is Puerto Rican, my brother and I ending up being half white, half Hispanic. The cultural differences of the two sides of my family are significant, whether it be food, past times, or communication/interaction, they differ.

As a young child, I was always closer to my father, so witnessing him do such horrible things to my mother had forever traumatized me. My parent’s separation during my prepubescent years was the worst experience I had in my life. I fell into a stage in which I resented my father for damaging our home and not only breaking my mother’s heart, but mine as well. I could not and would not grasp the idea that living in New York would somehow be better for us. I would spend night after night crying myself to sleep because all I wanted was my family to go back to what I considered normal for a long

After four years living with my father, my mother decided to move her and me to America. This was due to the conflict present within the family, which details are unknown to me because of my age, as well as to ensure a beneficial education, leading to vast opportunities for her children and allow my mother to return to college to receive her bachelor’s and master’s degree. During the months after our departure, my father stayed in contact through weekly phone calls. After my sister’s birth, we returned to Jamaica. Again, after a shorter time period, we returned to America as the problems had risen again. Succeeding the time of our final departure from Jamaica, contact from my father has dwindled to an occasional text message on mine, or my sister’s birthday each year. In July of 2009, after months of preparation, my father came to stay with us for one week and then returned to Jamaica. Since July of 2009, I have had no physical/facial interaction with my noncustodial parent and the contact that I do receive is through passed along messages from my Aunts who travel from America to Jamaica. My mother has raised three kids: my sister, myself, and my brother; without paternal nor federal aid.

My mother is Polish and Italian but my father is African American so growing up as a biracial person was always somewhat of a challenge. My relatives my my mothers side always saw my siblings and I as somewhat outsiders because we bared many physical differences from many of them, whereas when I encountered my fathers side of the family it always started out that I was more similar to them but I ended up not being like them enough to be fully accepted as one of them either. It is interesting because some see me as belonging more to a “white” culture and some see me more associated with “black” culture making me feel as though I never really belonged to either. It impacts my identity because at times it can make me feel as though there is not

It wasn 't always easy living with my father, but I always knew he had my best interests at heart. When I finally entered Marymount High School, I had a burning desire to try out for the basketball team. Even though I was tall and athletic, my father wouldn’t allow me to get involved in sports. He told me a student who wanted to become a doctor didn 't have time to play games.

My family’s identity has been formed through our cultural background. In our household, there are six members total; my mother, my father, my three siblings, and I. My family’s ethnicity is strongly based on a Latino culture. Since the day I was born, my family’s heritage still remains alive. Aside from biologically obtaining the traditional Latino heritage, our family has also adopted a minimal of the American culture. It has been a struggle for my parents to keep intact with their norms, beliefs, and practices as they were raised in their home state. Although my siblings and I have become more tied with the American culture than our biological heritage, my mother and father have a major impact on how we were raised due to the way my parents were taught growing up. In our Latino culture, my parents were raised by a strong mother figure; therefore, their expectations were to raise us into becoming strong independent women. In addition, women in my culture are expected to hold high standards of duties; such as, cleaning, cooking, and being nurtures. Unfortunately, if such duties are not maintained, it often leads in being criticized by others in our family. It becomes challenging to understand the views my parent grew up with while growing up with different views that we encounter in the United States. My siblings and I still greatly practice our family’s heritage, but unfortunately we have grew new perspectives being born and raised in the United States.

My mother had it rough growing up. Forced to be out of the house nearly by dawn and only to return by nightfall, she was ignored and turned away by her mother. All throughout her childhood, and most of her young adult life until she ran away, my mother was

I grew up in a household slightly different from the average household. This abnormal household showed me that no matter the family unit someone can have a positive influence in their life that will push them to achieve their goals. We lived in Maryland so the cost of living was high my parents had to work multiple jobs. This means my brother and I really had little to none parental or supervision growing up. I am only four years younger than my brother so I would hang with his crowd of friends rather than mine. In my household, my mother’s niece, Monet lived with us she is about ten years older than my brother. When my brother and I would wake up and I would be the only person in the house. I can remember waking up and smelling the freshly cooked waffles and bacon downstairs. Monet was my mother’s brother, daughter. Monet became so close to my brother Avery and I she was almost as if she was our sister. I can remember growing up and she would always say, “You don't have to take the route I took, its many more exits on the highway.” Even though I was young I was not blind to the fact of Monet role in the community and her neighborhood job I never judged her, she did what she had to do to make ends meet. It was an experience every day, or anytime being with Monet. She was so popular around Maryland it was almost like everywhere we went we received respect love. Now that I look back at the past, I see that Monet has taught me a lot that I know and live by today. I could