The Age Of Twenty I Believed I Learned

I did not keep an open mind to alternative perspectives at that time. My father and step-mother had expressed concerns before and I was becoming more aggressive and irritable with every accusation. I knew that my relationships with those around me were tested by my actions.

As I was young, I ignored what was going on and only focused on my life and how my mother and father interacted with me.

When I was growing up, my family was like many other families, happy. Starting at age 6, I noticed a change between my parents because they started to not get along as well as they did before. No longer were they smiling at each eachother in the way you would to someone you cared deeply about. No longer did they laugh together as though someone would if you could see the world through their eyes. I felt my life was crumbling to pieces at such a young age, and there was nothing I could do about

In addition, around that time, technology was advancing and I was introduced to a whole new world within the internet. The world around me was changing, and it was changing fast. As middle school progressed, I began learning about a variety of different subjects. I was informed about the existence of other religions, beliefs, and morals. Everything was new to me. Soon my perspective towards the world began to shift, and I began to view the world around me in a new, more comfortable way. After having followed my parent’s will for all those years, the option to go against their beliefs had finally become a possibility for me. It felt liberating, for I was on my way to shaping my own individual personality along with new beliefs. Due to being a teenager, my rebellious stage took over. Being exposed to so much information in such a small amount of time left me stranded in the middle of confusion. My parents would tell me one thing, but my mind refused to believe anything or anyone anymore. What was I supposed to do? Who should I listen to? Did my parents purposely refuse to provide this information in fear of me forming my own individuality? I was young, immature and didn’t know what was going on around me. The moment I stated my mind and proposed the possibility of God not being real, my parent’s facial expression filled up with rage as a thermometer

Growing up I was always told religion was false and that I was above my friends who were Christians because I believed in science. My mom was raised by Catholics, but when she graduated High School, she vowed to never be religious again. My father enjoyed feeling more elite over the “religious plebeians” that worked for him. I remember having an argument with Victoria Henderson in 3rd grade because I believed in The Big Bang and she was a creationist. Everyone took Victoria’s side, and I learned it was better to just not talk about religion. In high school, I began reaching out of my comfort zone, and also questioning what my parents had ingrained on me as a person. My first religious experience was dating a boy named Luis who was Catholic, as my mother was raised. He was only allowed to date Catholic girls, so I

It all began with a simple phone call one night after dinner. “Joe,” my dad hollered up the stairs, “it’s for you. It’s Jackie, and she sounds scared.” As I treaded down stairs to pick up the phone, I was nervous. Jackie usually never calls me on the phone unless it’s something serious, and my dad telling me she sounded scared made it worse. Approximately 30 minutes passed at Jackie whips her silver Mustang convertible into our driveway, and Jackie was leaning on the horn before the car came to a complete stop. Grabbing my coat from the couch, I sprinted out my front door faster than i’ve ran in my whole life. I got immediately in her car and we drove away. I’ve never seen Jackie so scared in my life. She was driving at least 20 miles over

The misconceptions of my youth left me to feel alone and I longed for someone who could relate to my struggle. I constantly felt that I was being treated differently. I was constrained by the

In my youth, I was like every other child, completely oblivious to the world round me and the hatred it contained. I was a happy little girl who was a little to clingy to her mother, all though that didn’t last long. I have no memory of my dad between the ages 2-4 considering he was never home. I had quite an imagination so I was always daydreaming which gives me trouble today considering I can’t remember what of my early childhood was real. My parents split when I was two so I don’t have much of a concept of how my parents’ relationship was, although now I’ve come to know that it wasn’t at all good.

It was a cold fall-ish day and school was just around the corner (number 10 on top 10 list of things I hate, and i hate a lot), And on exactly 8:00 my new neighbors called me and said they needed a job in babysitting. I had experience with that so I took the job. 15 minutes later, I walked over to the Garland’s house for the babysitting. When I opened the door, I got a whiff of blueberry pie. I don’t know if it was JUST blueberries, because I smelled other berries too. Standing in the kitchen was Mrs. Garland. I walked over to her and all of a sudden she explained why she was making the pie.

Where should I even begin? I wish I could pin-point exactly when the chaos began. Unfortunately, I cannot. I am a first generation college student. I have grown up in a family that consisted of two parents and three older sisters. The good thing I can say is that we are complete, but we aren’t exactly a “whole.” My sisters’ and I grew up under a belt held by my father. To this day I can still recall my early days as a child when I witnessed my father abused my mother, my sister, and then eventually me. It was a mix of physical and emotional abuse. An abuse only children are able to bear due to the love they have for their parents.

During this stage or phrase children are allowed to make mistakes simply for purpose of being able to learn from the mistakes (Schaie, 1977-1978).Children are allowed to make mistakes because during this stage parents or guardians are the ones taking responsibility for decisions that will affect the child’s life. One positive aspect of my parents and step mother s making my decision or choices for me was that in regards to big decision I never felt the consequences for making the wrong or harmful decisions. However, one major consequence for my parents and stepmom making my decisions was that I was never allowed to make choices or decisions based on who I was or what I believed in. By not allowing me to make my own decisions or not my feelings, wants and beliefs into consideration my family did not allow to grow, mature or to be myself (Robinson, Smith, 2010). Individuals who are denied the opportunity to be themselves “enter a state of self-alienation, where the individual’s behaviors and actions do not reflect personal preferences, values, or desires, but rather reflect the demands or expectations of others” (Robinson, Smith, 2010). However, after leaving home I was finally in the power of making my own decisions and choices. Upon entering college I quickly learned that some questions could not be answered simply and required looking at the question from multiple angles as well as a lot of thought. Questions that cannot be answered simply and require a lot of thought are defined as ill-defined or ill structured (Broderick, Blewitt, 2015). Once I was making my own decisions and choice I soon realized that a lot of the problems or situations I encountered involved these ill-defined or ill structured problems. According to Schaie’s theory the reason why most of the problems I encountered were ill-defined or ill structured was because I was in

There was still some time left in the day when I made it back to town, I needed to check public records, to see if he has physical residence. Our library was one of the few places in town that looked nice, up kept by a nice older lady that volunteers reading to the elderly on weekends. She lets me come here on days for work related research and we spend so much time chatting up on stuff Becky and I used to do. She was a bit older than I was, also unmarried. Some suspect she is gay, but who cares, she is just too cool. After driving to the building I went inside and headed to the computer station. The internet was sluggish, being run by the city they opted for the crappiest, or I should say, cheapest, internet possible. I needed to access the public records department and find out there Ryan lives, just on the off chance I can confront him in person if I need to. His full name is Ryan Cormick, and lives in the slums of Yokeman. Slums is too kind of a word, it’s more like glorified trailer park. It was the shoddiest side of town, where most of our crimes get committed. Some days it gets so bad that the pizza places sometimes refuse to deliver there. It didn’t take long before I found the address, turns out our little drop out never left town according to this, he lives at 2127 Tempest

I was not naive enough to believe that I knew everything there was to understand about life, however rewind to seven months ago: beginning of my senior year, I believed that I was at least in close proximity to that sort of understanding. I knew that life had a great deal to do with survival. Immigrating to this country at just four years old under asylum, and being introduced to a completely different culture, lifestyle, language, etc.; I understood that in order to survive I needed to fully immerse myself into the American lifestyle, all while only having family members that were in the same predicament I was. Life was about faith. Nights in the hospital room my sophomore and junior year, kneeled down praying to my God that my mother's tumors

Snapping out of my thoughts I countered with “Cinnamon pancake, bacon, eggs,” He looked happy at this response but hid it. He waved his hand as if begging me to go on. “And I will make you B.O.L.T.” Satisfied with this he walks off to unleash havoc. I walk into my room and grab my clothes I choose sunday night. I have wanted to get revenge on James and Sam since sunday. So me being myself, I hacked into his phone and texted his girlfriend that he is going to spend the night over on Wednesday. Then she responded ‘ Yeah you should totally come over. We can binge watch Stephen king and stuff. It would be fun. Plus you can help me study for mr.Clarke quiz.’ I then deleted the text I sent so then it seems like it was her idea. So now not only will my mom wake up from the loud banging caused by her youngest son but she will also figure

I was six when everything happened. My parents never really showed affection towards each other in the few years I remember. I only remember yelling and objects smashing against the walls. I only remember being told to grab my brother and head to my room while they fought. I remember pressing my ear against the walls to listen to what they fought about, but I never understood any of it. I never dared to walk out of my room while they fought because I knew I would be yelled at as well. Sometimes my infant brother and I would spend hours just sitting in my room playing with toys. We were held captive until one of my parents decided to let the other win.