Personal Narrative-Mother-Daughter Relationship

Most people would consider having two fathers very lucky, but in my circumstance I have a father and a dad. Although they may seem like the same word or name, they have very different meanings. A father is the man who you are connected to biologically, but does not always support or have a relationship with you. A dad, however, is the man who takes care of you, teaches you right from wrong, is always there for you, and never gives up on you. From the outside looking in I may have two fathers, but in reality I have a father and a dad.

A new year had just arrived. I can still picture January in my mind, the mood was sullen and dark, I could feel the cold reaching my bones, but now I know that was the best feeling I‘d ever had. I had only a few weeks left to start college, which had been my dream since I can remember. My dad had already paid for my tuition, I was so exited I had promised to do my best. Then, I realized there was an obstacle in my way. I knew I needed to make a decision on whether or not keeping my pregnancy, it sounds rough, but it was definitive. I did not want to miss school, so I was definitely not taking this to the last term. I just could not think of myself being prostrated in bed for so long, as an impediment to start school. Never, nothing would

My interviewee is a second generation immigrant with one parent who was born in El Salvador and the other who has Mexican roots but was born in the United States. For the purposes of confidentiality my interviewee will be addressed as Ana from here on out. In this interview paper I will discuss the experiences that Ana faced growing up in a tri-racial household. I will also evaluate her experiences regarding assimilation to the lectures and reading assigned through out this course.

Initially, Carlos (aka Charlie) was court ordered for treatment to explore his issues with substance abuse, when he was arrested for driving while intoxicated. During subsequent sessions, Charlie spoke of his early childhood struggles with being accepted by his family and his rebellious behaviors. Currently, Charlie still explores his issues with his self-esteem while he blames others for the way he feels about himself. However, Charlie had expressed feelings of anger towards those around him including his girlfriends, ex-wives, manager, directors, and co-workers proclaiming them all as losers and himself as a “Winner!” He has commented to reporters that he has no anger issues and it is everyone else’s problem with the way he acts not his,

For the first parent interview, I interviewed my friend Randy. The interview took place in the living room of my house. His daughter was present but was playing with my sister at the time of the interview. Randy is the father of a toddler girl who is three years old but will turn four soon. Randy was born in 1992, he is not married but is cohabiting with the mother of the child and his parents’ home. In addition, Randy works for a medical supplies company and has only completed high school. Moreover, when he had his first child and only child, he was 21 years old.

What does it mean to be a parent? Being a parent means putting the well-being of your family and baby's safety first at all times, and making sure that no one will harm them. In addition, it means to love unconditionally and helping your kids grow to become respectful members of society. They will also be someone who will make the best possible choices in life and are willing to come to you whenever they need help because they look up to you as their strength and guidance. But, the one thing I don’t understand is why so many parents are killing their babies at the first stage of life, just because they are not ready to become parents. Because I believe if a couple is not ready or is willing to put a baby’s life above their own, they should

“We were led into an examining room, where a nurse instructed my mother to remove her shirt and put on a cotton smock with strings that dangled at her sides. When my mother had done so, she climbed onto a padded table with white paper stretched over it. Each time she moved, the room was on fire with the paper ripping and crinkling beneath her. I could see her naked back, the small curve of flesh beneath her waist. She was not going to die. Her naked back seemed proof of that. I was staring at it when the real doctor came into the room and said my mother would be lucky if she lived a year. He explained that they would not attempt to cure her, that she was incurable. There was nothing that could have been done, he told us. Finding it so late was common, when it came to lung cancer,” (Strayed, 11).

When I was thirteen years old, I gave myself a shot. I was never good with medical things as a child, like never wanting to take medicine and absolutely hating needles. Many children, and even adults, hate needles but they just have to suck it up and deal with it. That was what I did for most of my life, until I had a very bad ingrown toenail. My mother made an appointment with a podiatrist and off we went. I had no idea what to expect, and figured they could just remove it with not too much difficulty. However, the doctor informed me that removing it would be extremely painful and that my foot had to be numbed before he could do the procedure. Naturally, I freaked out, especially when he pulled out the needle. In my mind, the needle was a

After my mother and I have an argument she usually smiles at me and says, it’s because we’re so much alike that we argue. She reminds me that our lack of communicating often stirs more trouble than why we were arguing. I used to get upset that my mom didn’t set time aside for our family to spend time together or make us eat together at the dinner table. I was upset because I was comparing our family to my friends’ families. I valued those things and assumed my mom didn’t, but I was wrong. My mom had so much on her mind everyday it was breaking her on the inside. Not only had I wanted my mom to be like my friend’s moms, now I had wanted my mom to be different because she was depressed. Bonhoeffer mentions that we desire images of others that we want, but aren’t the true image they bear as Christ’s (pg37-38). At first I was puzzled. How is a good image of mine, not Christ’s image for her? I learned that His image is neither right nor wrong, but simply uniquely divine. My mom could have done those things, but her whole life would have had to be different, and I would never want to change who my mom is.

I want to resolve this. I want Jaren to spend time with you. I want you to spend time with Jaren. I want more than anything to not feel I as though we have to appease each

Is your mother really your mother? My birth mother has never been in my life. Never have been around her for a long period of time. My great aunt has been her through everything in my life. The only reason why I'm still sane.

It really is a shame that I didn't get to know her better when I was younger, but I am glad I do know her pretty well now.

My parents were teen parents and got married while my mom was pregnant and just finishing High School. I think that their age really impacted how they raised me compared to my siblings, I am 11+ years older than all of my siblings. My parents were young and not fully ready to parent. My parents separated when I was 5 and divorced soon after. The divorce greatly impacted my family experiences. I had to learn to navigate two households, blended families, different rules/expectation, conflict between my parents, etc. I feel that being the child of young parents and then divorced parents, a lot of responsibilities were expected of me at a young age from my single parenting mom. This experience made me a pretty responsible teen and young adult. I was working at 12 earning my own money and responsible for buying my own clothes and other needs. I was one of the few in High School who had enough money saved to purchase my own car when I turned 16.

It is as though she didn’t hear her mother’s allegations against her dad, only the attack. Arlene was ready to pounce, apparently just waiting for the opportunity. “You don’t like being around me either, you only like work. Daddy is my real mommy, always around, and you’re not. You just waited all this time because you wanted to yell at him because you haven’t said anything to me all night. I stayed with you watching TV just to see if you would talk to me but you just sat there, waiting, ready to pick a fight as soon as daddy came back. How can we enjoy this new camper if you won't let us? I thought you would be glad daddy agreed to buy it, so we don’t have to sleep on the ground anymore, and even that didn’t make you happy. You’re never

One December afternoon two years ago while I was on home on break, my mother made a request I longed to discuss for years. She had just poured herself a cup of coffee as I walked into the kitchen; outside, the snow fell in the crisp Kentucky air. Her blonde hair fell around her face, and her voice was quiet as she spoke. “Star and I had a fight this morning,” she said, using my sister’s first name. I looked at her and nodded as my heart withered