The Importance Of My Day At School

The morning was foggy and I could see the front of my school through my window. It was a nice sight to see. I walked into the kitchen to make myself a bowl of cereal and there she was with her head down on the table. I could tell that she arrived a couple of hours ago because the tears hadn’t dried from her cheeks yet. I got myself ready gave her a kiss on her forehead and headed off to school. I had walked into class eager to see what my teacher Mrs. Padron had in store for today. Every single day there was something new to learn and there’s something about that infinite nature of learning that really appealed to me as a child. I cherished those 7 hours I spent in class the most I could and I dreaded the mere thought of having to go home where I would have to face the

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

No one knows the story behind why my dad is such a horrible. You've only heard bits and parts of the story that are easy for me to explain. They don't make me tear up because I know that nothing is ever going to change. There're some parts in the story that make me frustrated and tear up and those are the parts that I hate to share. I just have to be strong enough and courageous enough to tell the parts that hurt the most. I share my feelings about my dad on this blog to vent and to show you that through difficult times you're not alone. Sometimes you feel like you're trapped in a dark hole and you can't get out. The truth is you can get out. Look for the light at the end of the dark hole. There is light somewhere you can't be stuck in the dark for the rest of

Our parents began arguing a lot. We were going through a financial crisis. My mother had gambling issues, which I did not know then. The first time I saw my father cry was when my mother got involved in a car accident. She survived but her left leg was not able to function as it was before. It is difficult for her to run and the pain returns from time to time. She remained bedridden for a while and I could see her getting depressed everyday not being able to go anywhere. The second time I saw my father cry was when his sister’s husband passed away in a car accident. I did not understand what was happening at the time, they gave me the phone to talk to her but she was just sobbing. Both my parents were tearing up while me and my brother were just confused and sad because everyone was crying.

Therapist: “Sounds in some way that brush with death your father had really affected you in a lot of ways.”

Having my dad around all the time wasn’t my everyday routine. I’d see him once or twice a week so I wasn’t very much used to see him every day. One day I came home after school and he and my mom were on the balcony talking, the notice I was staring, they both looked at me and called for a family meeting by the tone of their voices I could tell there was

Arriving at Northride High School, I finally caught a break from my mum’s rambling in the car and I attended my first class of the day. The clock winded down till the end so fast like the foam-flakes drifts on the river. As it did, I wandered to the back of the school at the end of the day and an

Nearing the end of the school year is when unfortunate set of events took place. Spring break had just ended. The school season was almost over with summer vacation lurking right around the corner. I was overwhelmed with excitement, I had spent an entire week deprived of the place and friend I favored most. That morning I ate my breakfast so fast I practically choked. I walked onto my bus with the biggest grin on my face and as I entered the double-doors with an extra spring in my walk-skip step. I entered the classroom early enough to greet my beloved Cindy. Only to my disappointment, her desk was empty. Unaltered, I walked over to my desk ready to begin my day. Just as the announcements that signal the start of school began out of the corner of my eye I caught Cindy walking in I waved to her and received no response. I did not catch the red flag, perhaps she did not see me I thought and continued on with my day. Although I tried motioning towards Cindy with no prevail I was not fazed by it. Writing, math, and science preoccupied mind throughout that morning.

For as long as I could remember my dad wasn’t in my life. Ever since I was in the fourth grade he was constantly in and out of the hospital, had multiple strokes, and towards the end of his life on and off of life support. Even though I still saw him a few times a week, and tried to keep in touch with him as much as I could, but I was already learning at a very young age how to live without him. Then one day in my junior year of high school he passed away. Losing him was probably one of the hardest things I’ve had to endure. I was out of school for two weeks, and when I got back, learning was not on my mind. Almost to the point to where I didn’t even care about school anymore. My grades dropped and I ended up failing my junior year. I had so much guilt in me asking myself “why couldn’t I have done more?”, and “Why did I not go see him more when I could?”. But I knew I had to change and get back on the right track but at the time I did not know how. I did not know to move on from my dad dying and

After the funeral I spent the rest of summer locked in my room listening to her favorite songs. My dad would come in my room and beg me to talk to him, but it was to no avail, I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. It eventually got easier, but it still hurt. It was hard not have her there, but things weren't so bad with just me and my dad. Little did I know in just a couple of years my life would take another turn for the worse.

For the longest forgiving my father was not even a thought. He had hurt and abandoned me so what reason did he deserve my forgiveness. My hate for the situation started around the age of fourteen. I did not want him around at all. I felt like I had gone this long without him and him coming around more would just ruin things. My mother being who she is, tried her best for us to rekindle our relationship, but in my eyes, it was a dead issue. Building up all that hate, and anger made me a bitter teenager. The anger I had towards him, I took out on other people. We are a religious family, so my mom would always tell me to forgive because I was not hurting my dad, but I was hurting myself. My dad was still going on about his day, while I was sitting there with so much anger just because I could not forgive. I am the type of person where I do things on my own time. I don’t like being told when to move on from something.

I was sitting on my bed reading my homework assignment. As I turned the pages I could hear the crisp paper flip over after each page turned. I set the book down on the soft comforter. and looked in the mirror. I thought about how everyone said I looked just like my dad. The freckles that overlined my face. The dark brown eyes with thick black eyelashes. I thought of his image in my head. The only thing that remained different were my eyes were filled with sadness. If there was one thing I would always remember about my dad was that his eyes were always filled with happiness, excitement, or sympathy. I felt my face slightly redding. My eyes welled up with tears. I felt a big lump in my throat that I attempted to swallow. I felt the tear drip down my face. The tear fell close to my mouth and I could taste the salt from it that followed. I wiped my tears quickly, and stared at the picture of my dad. Then I told myself that if he were here he would want me to help mom, and take care of her. I thought of how I saw my mom crying for weeks after my dad passed away from getting shot from his job. My dad was a police officer and always protected us. It’s been almost a year since and my mom had never been the same. I could feel myself getting more angry.

Quickly following when I woke up, a strange sensation filled my stomach and I knew whatever it was I wouldn’t have been able to predict that I was about to experience a moment I’d remember my whole high school career. I could hear my own footsteps as they plonked down my driveway, inching my way closer and closer to my mailbox until my chin stood just above the rusty lever. As I cranked the lid open a white envelope protruding it’s way out from the pile of bills had caught my eye. The envelope made its way to my hand, a bit of pink paper emerging itself into the world as I ripped the seal. Words had arose onto the paper, transferred into my mind. I couldn’t believe my eyes, me a Freshmen would in a few terse hours be at a Sophomore’s house, and not only that, I would be there for a party. Knowing that Freshmen aren’t usually given this contingency, that’s how I know my impression matters now more than ever.

As I arose the next morning my father had made me a slice of toast with strawberry jelly on it and some orange juice. Annika, Zoe and I carpool in the morning and so I waited patiently for her mother to come pick me up. As they picked me up we all jammed out to Beyonce's new tunes to try and get all the stress out of our bodies. Once we got to school, we announced our goodbyes and went our separate ways. As class dragged on I couldn’t help but wonder what if this the year I didn’t meet the requirements to

There’s not one time in any of my memories were I have a good memory of my parents and me. All my memories of them are covered in the nightmares that I suffered. Before I was ten years old my dad would travel a lot for work, so I never saw him much. When he came back it wasn’t some romanticized welcome home. Instead it was filled with shouting, sometimes at my mother and sometimes at me. It seemed like my mother and I could never do anything right and my father was sure to point it out. If I came home with a B on my report card I would get yelled at. This yelling wasn’t just the kind where he was upset because he knew I could do better. No, this was him taking a whip to my self-esteem and destroying it. According to him, I was beyond stupid and worse than that I was worthless. This would happen every time he came home. Whether I had straight A’s, or not he would