Personal Narrative: Moving With My Dad

At the age of 10, I began to learn how to transfer my dad in and out of his bed on my own. I learned how to use certain supplies to help meet all of his needs. I needed to learn all of this is such a short time because my mom was starting up her own business, so she wasn't home often. My brother and I took turns getting my dad settled down for bed every night.  I’ve never minded the responsibility. I have always definitely been "daddy's girl". Although I was exposed to many experiences and dealt with difficult situations in caring for my father at such a young age, I can honestly say it has helped me become a more independent person and made me the woman I am today. You might be asking why I’m writing so much about my father, but he was the

He would come home wasted after weeks of not being home; of me wondering where my father had been all those weeks. Staying up late on school nights just wishing for him to come home and tuck me in bed, to tell me he loved me, to ask me how my day was, or just tell me that he was there to stay. As a first grader it is hard to explain to your friends why they can not come to your house to play just knowing that if he is there that he will be drunk yelling at my mom for nothing. It got to the point to where he would come home after a few days and grab a suitcase and leave to go with his new girlfriend for a few days or even weeks. Right before he would leave I would always have hope that he would tell me where he was going or take me with him. I just wanted a father. My mother always told me that he would be back and to have hope; to always trust in her and that she would always be there for me. She was always my rock when I was younger. Until one day she finally told me what a monster the man I called my dad was. He was an abuser, physically and mentally. She told me the truth about the man that I wished was in my life for so long. He never wanted me. I was the youngest out

The moment I realized that my dad was not going to be in my life was when I wrote him “that letter.” My dad had went to jail, and at that time I still fought for my relationship with my dad. In the letter I basically informed him that everything was going to be alright. God was going to bring him out of every situation, and many more words of encouragement. Our relationship had been somewhat okay, I visited him in jail and of course you know how things go with certain people. They tell you that whenever they get out, they’re going to be a better person, he’s going to continuously be a part of me and my brothers lives. So what do you think happened? That shit never happened. I think that’s what had hurt the most. Because I literally gave so much into that letter, and for you to continuously lie to me and tell me that you’re going to do something and you don’t is pretty fucked up. Because even when people were beginning to give up on him, I was the only one being positive and trying to give him a chance and be there for him. I just don’t understand how you can just look someone in the face and feed them all this bullshit and then you don’t make the effort to make anything happen. But I guess that’s why it’s called

As a kid I only got to see my dad on the weekends and those were the best days I had, I never understood why I couldn't live with my father full time because my mom never lived a stable life. My mother wasn’t as bad as it seems, she always made sure we had food and somewhere to stay even if it wasn't the greatest, even living with my mom my dad still paid for almost everything I had. When I was about 8 years old I lived in Mccomb and it was my dads weekend and I was so excited to get off of school and go see him, When I got home I was shocked to find everything packed up and my mom told me to get in the car, I was so upset to find out that me, my two brother, and her and her boyfriend were off to Florida. The whole trip to Florida I balled my eyes out and all I remember was that I kept saying that I wanted to live with my dad and that I hated my mom, I wondered how she could just up and leave without telling my

It had been along time since something new had entered my world. Amongst the ruins of our space elevator, I sat, head bowed, and payed my respects to a whole civilization lost. The rusted steel and crumbled mortar only amplified my grief. Rotating my mandibles I rose, and scuttled out into the hive proper, or what was left of it. There used to be noise, movement all accross our home, the workers furthering the goals of our Mother, the advisors contstatly planning our expansion into all of the fertile worlds of our system. Now, as I move through the entrance mound, there is only silence, and the sound of my chitin clicking harshly against the floor, echoing in a way I had once found eirie.

A challenging situation I had faced was moving with my family from North Carolina to Virginia. My parents told me that we were moving due to my stepdad retiring from the military and finding a new job in Virginia. We had been living in North Carolina for seven and a half years so I had spent most of my life in that small town. I was twelve at the time, so when my parents told me we were moving I remember I cried because everything I knew was there. All my memories and friends had been made in that place and I did not want to leave that. I think everything happens for a reason and that this was meant to provide a new experience. Also from that situation, it gave me a better understanding of myself. It brought me closer to my family, showed me

It’s been a year since my father passed away. Traditionally, my family will get together that day to mourn and recall the memory of my dad. When we cleaned his desk a few months ago, we found these old newspaper articles about dad and our family, refugee immigrants who were resettled in Kansas City area over than two decades ago.

It was the end of my sixth grade year when my dad came to me and told me the most devastating news of my life. He was going overseas! Not only was he going to be at least thirteen hours away, but half way across the country in Dubai. Then it hit me…Where would I live? , Who would take care of me? , and why is he going all the way over there? Too many questions to process at one time. My dad who meant the world to me was leaving me. He was a single parent and it was just me and him since I was born. I was heartbroken.

I remember while I went to school, my father babysat my toddler son, Jay. One night I came home to a flustered grandpa. "Diane, there is something wrong with Jay. He cried the whole time you were gone. That's not normal." My dad's words about my son hurt me, but I just filed them away in my memory.

Growing up in a home with both my parents, I was fortunate to be able to spend a lot of quality time with my father. We used to go out together and play soccer, baseball, and ride bikes. I remember we used to play a lot of old school video games and my mother would get pretty upset at the hours we spent playing and not doing anything productive. In my point of view, our relationship was perfect; our bond was strong like any father and son. I was only four years old when my world was turned upside down. My life changed the day that my mom and my dad separated, I felt alone. The process of a divorce was too much for a child that age to handle; it was a hard time for me. Although I had no father figure for about 12 years because my dad moved

It was a dark and stormy night in 1912 in Anyksciai, Lithuania, in a village and of course by mom and sister had to be fighting. So I walked to my room stomping!

On February 28, 2002 I was born in a small hospital in Northern Ohio. About a year later my biological father left my me and my mother, so for most of my childhood I grew up with a single-parent. I lived in Ohio for about four years, and then I moved to Maryland where I met my (now) Step-dad at my mother’s work. I was very shy when I first saw him, and I don’t think I would have ever guessed that he would marry mom four years later. Skip to mid-2010 when I had lived in New York for a year and I was starting the third grade. I was at the bus stop when I saw a girl about my age who was waiting for the bus as well. For the rest of my two years in New York we had become best friends and we still are in contact of each other (she now lives in Chile).

People gain inspiration from different people and places. I on the other hand gain it from my family.For starters when I was a little girl about eight years old I grew up in a extremely athletic family my mom,dad, and literally both my older sisters at the same time, because both of the were playing volleyball together and when I was at that age both of my parents played rugby. When it came time for me to choose a sport it was extremely difficult to find what was fit for me.At first I thought I was going to go for volleyball like both my sisters but it didn't really satisfy me at all. Both my parents played rugby at the time and they played it a lot, but I didn't think of rugby as a thing for me I just looked at it as a cool game to watch. Until one day of my dad's rugby practice like always I never liked playing with my older sister and her friend's because they were boring to be around, so I would just watch my dad practice rugby with his team and try to understand it from the sideline.

“I cannot believe you’re counting down the days until I turn eighteen, what a father!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.

My story is not the best yet I am grateful for it since it pushes me to move forward. When I was smaller my family had always lived in homes that we rented or shared with other families. I came from immigrant parents so, clearly, a lot of pressure was put on me from a young age. I had to translate everything for my mother and I still do. As much as I appreciate my family I do not want their past experience to define me. Quite frankly, my family has encouraged me so much yet what I do, I do for myself. It is very important for me to be able to help myself so I can help others. They have taught me the importance of education and want me to be successful.