“Dad, can I go over to Ambers’ house to study tomorrow?” Our daughter Catherine asked the question, from about halfway up the stairs. Only her face could be seen as she peered at my husband hopefully, over the banister. I looked over at my husband, knowing what he would say, before he spoke. “Ask your mom.” My husband said to her, while glancing at me, expectantly. I smiled at him, knowing why he was telling her to ask me. He had worked all week, making the long drive from our home in Ashland to his office in Richmond and was hoping I would drive her to her friend’s house, so he could relax at home. My daughters’ hopeful gaze turned toward me, as well. “Madre?” She didn’t bother repeating the question. I hid the little sting of pain, that I always felt when she called me that, behind a smile. “What time are you supposed to be there, and do I need to bring you over and pick you up as well?” She nodded as she answered me. “Yeah, her mom can’t do it today, but I told her I would help her with her math.” Catherine had always made high marks in her school studies; it was something I was exceedingly proud of. “Yes, I’ll drive you, but make sure your phone is fully charged.” I have always been protective of the kids, and it was a long standing rule that they didn’t leave the house without a way to contact me. “I will.” She called out as she went the rest of the way up the stairs, disappearing from my view. I looked back to my laptop, not seeing the words of the article I had
I know mom died, Rosie, but it's better than seeing you like this." The words stabbed mercilessly into her, winding in-between bones and cartilage to strike her very core. "You dropped out, I know you've been stealing from me, and I can't support you the way you are anymore. It's been years, Rose. I've moved on. Your brother moved on. You need to move on, too." Pale blue-green eyes stared, blankly, at the weary older man leaning against the frame of her bedroom door--her father. Beleaguered with stress and a faint sense of hopelessness, he just stared at the floor as he addressed his twenty-three-year-old daughter. "I talked to (Your Character) the other day, about you. People were worried for a while, now they've just about given up. You've
“Welcome home Father! We have missed you so much,” I cried. “Thank you, Mary I’ve missed you as well,” he said with a quick smile quickly turning back into a frown. “What is the matter; did I do something wrong,” I say getting frightened. “Oh no sweetheart, it is definitely not you it’s just that... never mind. Where is your mother?” “She went outdoors to hang the laundry,” I replied, biting my lip knowing that it’s my job to do the laundry.”Thank you,” he yells, already out the door. As I make my way outside, I see my father worriedly talking to my mother as a look of
Walter had finally met his real father. On page 37, the author said he didn’t remember having a feeling that the man was his father. Walter Dean’s father’s name was George Myers. He was curious about seeing his father, even though he hadn’t seen him in a long time. Walter had found out that he had a brother named George and he was the same skin tone as him. He also found out that they didn’t call his brother by his real name, they called him Mickey.
Be stock in life and can figure out the problem! Time is all about spend time with the people with without live in the past. After his dad recently pass away, everything Emely did was living in that house just to remember her Dad, and don’t show people that she is living with her dad in the same bed just to remember him as a good thing living in the past time.
In the story “An Indian Father’s Plea” the story starts off with the teacher sending a letter to a child’s parents saying how the child is a slow learner and doesn't pay attention. the parents respond with how the child is smart and willing to learn but the environment isn’t good for the child he’s being treated differently. But because his culture is different, he is bullied and considered a slow learner a school. So the father of the child, sends a letter back to the teacher explaining why his son is different from the other kinds in a good way. On how the teacher and other students should learn something from him, and not judge him on how his learning speed is, how he learns, or what his cultural background is. The child's father in the
“Get back here now Priscilla!!!” she screamed. I turned the corner when I suddenly realized I didn’t know where to go. I haven’t walked out of class ever in my life but this wasn’t my first time getting yelled at or in trouble by a teacher, trust me. The sound of her deep shallow voice is all I can hear in my mind right now. This is going to be the 2nd call this week my parents will receive from my school. “What did I tell you about acting up at school, Pris?” she asks. “I’m really trying mom, I promise I won’t be that sarcastic anymore” I tell her. I recall this conversation like it was two days ago. Wait it was two days ago..
“MOM!” Diana can hear up the stairs, through the thin walls. Her daughter, Scarlet, stomps up the creaky wooden stairs, careful to skip the missing step. Diana calls exasperatedly, “In here, Scarlet.” Slamming the door open, Diana’s eleven-year-old daughter storms across the small, cozy room, coming to a stop at her mother’s queen-sized bed. A tear sheds from Scarlet’s hazel eyes, her auburn hair falling across her fair face. Dread seethes through Diana’s veins, fear rising from the pit of her almost-anorexic stomach. “Scarlet, what is it? Talk to me,” she pleads. The child’s mouth twists into a grimace as she mumbles, “Josh told me the reason you don’t spend time with me anymore is because-because you don’t love me.”
“Malia!”, I yelled for my daughter from the kitchen. I heard her heavy footsteps moving sluggishly around the corner. “Hug your mother and sister and tell them goodbye. Don’t forget to give Talia a hug too. Breakfast is in the oven and I left some money for pizza or whatever you want to eat. Don’t forget about Bo. He’s a big guy so feed him everyday now, don’t forget. No parties after 11pm and NO boys here unless your cousin is here. Do not let me catch-.” “Okay dad! Okay, okay, okay! You tell me the same things everytime. I get it by now, I promise I do.” Malia screams back at me. “Okay...making sure is all…” I said defeated. Realizing your baby girl isn’t a little girl anymore is the worst thing in
He was astonished that he had yet another power. He wondered what else there was to come. Emilio was excited. He felt that energy around him swarm all of his senses, it was a very empowering feeling. It was something Emilio had never felt before. Emilio had always been stepped on and put down, this was the first time he stood up and fought back without being hurt and getting away with it. The memories of being hurt and humiliated on many levels started to swarm him, he just stood there, motionless. He stared into what he thought was real life, was really just memories. Memories of the most brutal moments in his life, his father, Joey, other kids at school, and even little things that put him over the top.
Veronica was the eldest daughter, 4 years older than Emilia, Raphael wanted a son, so he raised his daughter to be a tomboy. The family would often spend time, together. They would walk around the clear lake, together. Or they would visit the forest, where nobody would bother them. But, when Claudia and Emilia were asleep, Raphael and Veronica would hunt in the woods, and bring it home. Raphael was Veronica’s favorite parent, and spends most of her time with him, she appreciated hearing her father’s compliments about how she was the most intelligent at school, or how she shot down a wild buck. Everything seemed like any other day, until something changed their lives, forever! Claudia was cooking breakfast, and Emilia was playing with her dolls,” Hello, Mrs. Teacup! How are you?” She made her dolls say. Claudia turned around, as she heard footsteps coming from upstairs,” Good morning!” A male voice greeted,” Daddy!” Emilia laughed, and ran up to her father, Raphael chuckled, and picked his baby girl up,” Oh, Good morning! Breakfast’s almost ready!” Claudia smiled. A 9-year old tomboy ran downstairs,” Father and I are going fishing!” She snickered,” Can I come?” Emilia asked,” No, this is for grownups, only! No babies
I grew up being the first ever kid to “not have a dad.” My classmates questioned me in ignorance, wondering how I was ever created without a father of my own. This is because I was taught by those around me, at the young age of six, to always reply “I don’t have one,” when asked, “Where’s your dad?”
Tim is my second dad’s name. My mom brought him home for my brother and me to meet when I was in first grade. I think I was six. I didn’t like Tim at first because he was shorter than my mother, and I doubted he would stay. My mom and I left the first dad when she was eight months pregnant with my brother. Although I was only three years old, I remember the night. I was eating those silly orange peanut-shaped circus candies. To this day, I cannot tolerate the taste of them. My mom told him she was leaving. She was tired of him being gone on the road with his big rig and of the other woman calling late in the night claiming that he was the father of her daughter. She didn’t yell and she didn’t
16. An English newspaper in Hong Kong is organizing a short story competition for senior form students. The topic for this year’s competition is as follows:
“This is crazy!” I exclaimed from the back seat of the truck my older brother, Anthony, was currently driving. “Relax Autumn, you’re too uptight, just have fun for once in your life!” I felt the familiar itch of anxiety at the back of my mind, but I attempted to push it aside and ran my fingers through my long, caramel brown hair. Emily, my best friend, sensed my anxious mood and put her arm around me. Her short, blonde hair tickled my shoulder as she looked deep into my emerald eyes. “Just breathe, you’ll be fine.” I nodded and continued to look out the window while Anthony and his friend Evan chatted about the football game. We were on our way to Taylor’s house. I didn’t really know Taylor, but my brother told me that she was nice. We pulled into the driveway of a run-down house, with the windows cracked, paint chipping off, and the front door barely hanging onto the hinges. A tall, skinny