Personal Narrative: What My Mother Believes

In American Culture its commonplace for someone to promise they “won’t tell a soul”,after hearing another person’s secret. This phrase is often uttered when the secret is negative. In cases of child abuse these words may not be uttered, but the child is left with the understanding that the incident isn’t to be discussed. The abuser may threaten to do further harm to the victim, if they tell anyone about what happened. In other instances the child may not want anyone else to know because they feel ashamed about the abuse; guilt, and betrayal are also common emotions experienced by victims of abuse. I know because over the past twenty-six years, I’ve experienced all of them. Although, my need to experience the unconditional

On November 17,1989 my mother Juanita Renea Ohlinger went into labor at 6:00 A.M. she was in labor for 12hrs. She laid there in so much pain at Providence hospital until Dr. Kendal Foster showed up and told her she had to have a C-section because her pelvis would not expand. The nurse hooked my mother up to monitors and willed her to the operating room, my father Raymond F Smith was dressed in hospital operating clothes. Dr. Foster began to open my mother’s womb and pulled me out at 5:25 pm.

In a political climate today that is defined by hyper-partisanship, a confluence of factors have led my political leanings to lean left of center but center around a moderate outlook. As I grew up in a family with a Democratic mother and a Republican father, I often understand the logic of both sides. While many times political parties attempt to claim a moral ideological superiority, I believe that all people have their own experiences and opinions that justify their leanings. For me, a person’s political ideology is not a factor that defines one’s personality or character. Among my friends, I am often hesitant to initiate political discussion unless I have known the person for a long period of time. While politics

The person I am interviewing for this project is my friend Richard’s mom, Mrs. Triplett. He and I have been friend since middle school, and we have an interracial friendship. He is culturally Black, and I am Vietnamese. I decide to interview his mom because I consider us to be different from each other in some key dimension. Unlike me, who am an immigrant to the United States of America, Richard’s family is native to New Orleans. His parents were born in New Orleans and they stayed in New Orleans their whole life. They been through many struggles and have seen many hurricanes. The recipe his mom decided to share with me is red beans and rice.

What I learned about my family and most importantly about myself is that we all have a role in our community. The money that I earn by completing my chores goes towards my favorite shops and some I save for the future in a savings account. The role I serve in my town goes through the church community, where I spend most of my Sundays helping my grandmother with Bible School. My History has always contained me playing sports like soccer, gymnastics also teeball, baseball lastly softball. But my timeline also contains my parents divorce and my knee injury. My house was built inside a huge rock wall that is barrier around the back side of my house. I have learned a lot not only about what my role is in the world, but that everyone has a part

I once believed teaching was the least gratified, but most important career until I remembered motherhood which is more arduous yet less appreciated than any other job. Mothers serve for at least eighteen years, everyday, sunup and far past sundown, without sick days, and arguably no pay. My mother, Manola Jean-Mary having eleven children has done the impossible for twenty-two years with seventeen more to go. There has been countless opportunities missed, many decisions questioned, even hospitalization because of the side effects of stress, however with no regrets she continues to do her absolute best for every one of us. A dissertation could be written about her strength, hardships, and how she has prevailed, but this essay only briefly explains my mother as my source of inspiration. I reached a point where I lost all motivation, any urge to accomplish anything. I was convinced that everything I did was unsatisfactory, that my role in this world, and my efforts were unimpactful,

The children were listening to the Alligator Alphabet book and were introduced to the letters and their sounds.

My mom used to beat me every single day. And I do not feel bad about saying this, it's in my memory and yet something tells me not to believe it. She not only beat me but my sister Angelica as well. I remember her beatings on myself more. If I think back to it I can almost feel how fearful I felt and how much I wanted her to stop. Anything or everything would make her go off on us. We were walking on eggshells. No matter how many times I tried my best to avoid making her mad or cause her to verbally abuse us, nothing worked. I grew up thinking I was a bad kid. I grew up thinking her actions and behavior were my fault. I found ways to keep her happy and she was always miserable. We never seen her genuinely happy for us, not a single day. Her

She follows me into the dining room, unaware of the hell on earth we're about to experience.

I never imagined my life to be the way it is now. As a child, I was blessed with a happy, healthy family and enjoyed childhood in Mexico. My parents made a decision when I was 14 that redirected my life to where I stand today. My siblings, mom, and I moved to the United States. My dad, on the other hand, stayed in Mexico working. Our lives changed drastically in all aspects.

The news arrives on a sunny Friday afternoon. A shrill ring from the phone grabs the attention of my whole family; burned into my memory forever is the image of my mother’s face. As she hangs up the phone, I already know the news was not what we had expected. Bursting into tears, my mother sobs as my father holds her, tears clouding his own eyes. The diagnosis is ductal carcinoma in situ, a form of breast cancer. The perfect weather contrasts with one of the most excruciating days of my life. The day is my mother's 50th birthday.

Years ago mothers stayed at home with the children while the father worked to support the family, but my home is the exact opposite. In my household, its three children and one adult. My mother works as a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA) at a near-by nursing facility. My mother was once married, but later got a divorce. After my mother’s divorce, she acquired a second job to pay bills. As a teen in middle school, I had to take on the responsibility as being the “babysitter”, so my mother wouldn’t have to pay for childcare services. Being the leader of the house while my mother worked, I had to learn how to provide for my younger siblings by cooking, cleaning and giving them short homework lessons. During this time my siblings and I bonded and learned how to care for one another just like I was doing for my mother.

I entered the first semester of my freshman year, opinionated and unsure of what to expect. I believed in many of the same things I do now: hard work, equality, advocacy, love, faith in something (even if we do not know what), and truth, among others. I found, though, when it came to approaching people, taking action, and believing in the impossible, I was immensely influenced by people in my life. I approached people and situations with cynicism implanted by my family and small-town friends. As the semester progressed, I found myself and my own point of view. I found myself approaching life more optimistically, and seeing challenges as opportunities rather than obstacles. Being truly on my own for the first time has opened my eyes to how

Today I was trying to take your advise and to be more assertive, ask more questions, and state what I need them to do (and try not to say ‘no’). Many times today I caught myself saying “Can you please” and have to immediately correct myself. It’s difficult but hopeful with practices and time I will start to change this habit of asking permission when I don’t have to.

February 2012, my mom is going to have a baby. I was excited because I wanted a little brother to teach things too. I was the last child, but my sister was only one year older than me so I played with her. She did not like doing the same things as me, I didn't really play with her anymore I would play by myself. February 9th 2012, my brother was born, when he was born he was a premature my mom said he would be born in March like me, I wanted to be the only on one of my mom's children to be born in March. But because he's a premature he was born earlier than expected. When he came home for the first the day I was so excited. But my mom would not let me touch him and I couldn't take care of him cuz I was young. When I was younger my mom used