Personal Narrative: Divorce

It all began with a simple phone call one night after dinner, “Joe,” my father hollered up the stairs, “it’s for you. It’s Jackie, and she sounds upset.” As I came downstairs to pick up the phone, I was not happy. I was tired and had looked forward to a nice quiet evening at home, not another stupid adventure with Jackie.

Waverly knew her mom “would not let me play among strangers”. She used reverse psychology to control her mother, by speaking in a small quiet voice, saying she did not want to go. Mrs. Jong then told Waverly she must play. Waverly got what she wanted without her mother realizing she had been manipulated by her daughter. The theme of the struggle of control became much more evident as Waverly realized how to trick her mother to regain power over Mrs. Jong and to do as she pleased. Another example demonstrating this theme, was Mrs. Jong’s inability to allow her daughter to use the techniques Waverly chose in playing chess. After a chess tournament won by Waverly, Mrs. Jong gave no sign of approval and said, “…Next time win more and lose less” regarding the chess pieces Waverly took from her opponent. Waverly did try to explain to her mother that part of the game was “losing pieces to get ahead”; her mother, although, did not accept that. Mrs. Jong hardly comprehended the rules of chess, but she nevertheless wanted to prove to her daughter that she was still fully in control and had all the power to tell Waverly how she should play the game. Regardless of all the games her daughter had won, Mrs. Jong tried to maintain control over the simplest aspects of the chess game to exert her authority

"Dad wants me to stay here and live with him. Is that okay?" my son asked. "He's promised me all kinds of "neat stuff" and I can get to know my step family better.

I thought she would laugh, but she didn’t. We were eating dinner together. My sister and dad were out to a movie. It was quiet, peaceful inside the house. My mother said, “You could be good at that.” When I asked her why she felt that way, she smiled. She said, “I know you’re always telling stories in your head.” She surprised me. I asked her if she thought my sister could be a writer and she said, “Not in the same way.” I wanted her to talk more about who she thought I could be, but my dad and sister came home. My dad was mad that we hadn’t made enough dinner for him, that we hadn’t thought to turn on the porch light, that the pesto had been left on the counter, that he always had to clean up after us.

Personal Narrative: Divorce Mum had briefly informed me that we were going to a place that would

I gazed fleetingly at the woman, and the sight of her big, black eyes popping out of her skull at me had started to unnerve me a little. That was when I began to whisper, “Mama,” trying to get her attention across the table. But it wasn’t until the creepy woman had rapped her knuckles on the window and shouted, “You!” before pointing a bony finger at my mama, that my mama’s attention had finally been pulled away from her cell phone which she had been preoccupied with.

Lydee nearly threw her gloves at me, flushed with fear at my onset of humor. Having held a beating heart between the confines of my fingers—crusted with black tar, spewing curses… this moment seemed rather, well… silly. “Fine, dear mother-ish. What game is that?” I amused the levity.

Amy Tan’s past and biography have a great influence on her story “The Rules of the Game,” because she models the tense relationship between Waverly and her mother after Tan’s own relationship with her mother. Tan and Waverly were both playing a “game” against their mother. Tan gives Waverly many of the same personality traits and difficulties that Tan experienced herself in her youth and this leads to a parallel of their conflicts.

Susie’s mother opened the door to let Molly, Susie’s babysitter, inside. Ten-month old Susie seemed happy to see Molly. Susie then observed her mother put her jacket on and Susie’s face turned from smiling to sad as she realized that her mother was going out. Molly had sat for Susie many times in the past month, and Susie had never reacted like this before. When Susie’s mother returned home, the sitter told her that Susie had cried until she knew that her mother had left and then they had a nice time playing with toys until she heard her mother’s key in the door. Then Susie began crying once again.

That evening when my mama did come home, I was all set to surprise her again with the money. But unfortunately as soon as I saw her getting out of the Family Truckster I could tell now wasn’t the best time to approach her. (And yes, we really do have a Family Truckster

Alone, it's word that I loathe.It’s how everyone describes me, every time I hear this word, it makes me realize who I am in society, an unwanted piece of trash, alone.By the way, my name’s Zac, I’m a 15-year-old male attending Dimlight High School.I live with my mom Kat, she’s 5’6, has long blonde hair and a very strict personality.We recently had a divorce with my dad, and that’s a reason why I get teased at school.I have the genes of my father, so I look different from my mother.I am approximately 5’7, have short black hair, and blue eyes like the ocean.No matter how hard I try to fit in, everybody looks past me and see me as somebody who is adopted.I’m used to the teasing now, but I’m not ok with having a “B” in reading, (Partly because

I grew up with parents who didn't love each other but tried their best to make it work because they loved us. Throughout my whole childhood my parents constantly fought and never seemed to agree even on the most insignificant things. Most kids want to have a perfect family, parents who aren't divorced and who are happy together. I also wanted that when I was younger. I was always the most sensitive when my parents would fight. I felt happiest when we were all together and everyone enjoyed being around each other. Eventually my parents stopped trying to hide the fact that they didn't get along and would fight in front of us all the time. It started to become a pattern I was used to and began to just brush off.

Not much to say about my childhood. I was always sick so i could never leave the house. Didn’t have many friends to hang out with. I just read books or played board games by myself. I guess I might have felt as if I might disappear. I mean the attention in my family is all directed towards my sister for the most part. And the divorce keeps my parents busy bickering. With friends I kind of just hang in the background as everyone else talks. At social gatherings i tend to get left out so i just sit by myself. I don’t tend to get noticed much. A phony thing people do that annoys me is pretending to be nice or caring when they could care less about you. Life is completely a game and if you don’t play by the rules then you’ll lose at life. 90 percent

I was standing on a wobbly dirty white chair stirring macaroni on the hot stove, as I listened to my mother get ready to take her husband out to dinner. The all too familiar odor of charring hot dogs nauseated me less than the fact that I knew I would have to serve the same meal to my brother and sister once again. Sweat gathered on my forehead. It was hot cooking in a sweater, but my mother had a rule, “Never ever show your bruises!” I was careful not to make too much noise. I did not want to add to my already growing collection of growing purple marks. Sometimes I pretended I was a mouse, creeping and crawling along the walls, staying quiet and out of sight. Quietly I gathered my siblings around the table. I put on my happy face and served them the bowls of mac-n-cheese with cut up hot dog I placed in the shape of smiley faces in hope that this would distract them. I could not let them see any disappointment or that I was thinking “Hotdogs with no bun and mac-n-cheese with no milk once again for dinner kids.” When my mother emerged from her room all dolled up. She swept past me to her youngest child, the one that was fathered by her new husband and said goodbye. The baby squealed with delight at the attention. The rest of us just sat and smiled. My face was tight with a forced smile I felt as if my cheeks were made of glass one poke and it would all break. She left

I never in life want to see you again! Door slams. Mother breaks down and cries again. She lies down in her room. Her son lies beside her to comfort her. Mom rubbed him, kissed, and told him she loved him. She woke him up in the morning; he gathered his pajamas from the edge of the bed and on the floor. Mom today was extremely happy this morning. Dad no longer being around and me taking his place was just the thing that mom needed.