The Perfect Family Became A Broken Home

My story isn't quite special really, although I have lived under some unique circumstances. My mother was a single parent raising my little sister and I until she married my Stepdad in 2007. I was five at the time and had no father figure until then. From that time on he became my dad. Our new family moved twice before living in a small city where we stayed for 6 years. This is where I made close friends, achieved academic excellence, went to church regularly, life was great or so I thought. What seemed to be our perfect life was turned upside down as hard times fell upon us. I was now the oldest of five younger siblings, my mom wasn't healthy, and my dad had to struggle to keep things going.

Most of my early life was rough. We moved a lot, and my parents fought and got a divorce, and my sister and I were always pushed and pulled from one parent to the next. After the divorce and even some before, my father was

Is it worth going back to the 1950s and experience the workplace of woman and men going to War or staying in the present time. Many people in today’s society see the morals and values of the past of the fifties. Nevertheless, the fifties had its nuclear family to where everyone was set for in life already. The woman became homemakers and men worked at an occupation. In the 1950s men were going to War, so the mother had to do both work and raise the family. However, after the War the woman wanting to continue to work, but the men were overpowering the woman in the past. In today’s culture everyone works and raise a family together. From the past to the present time of the 1950s the culture has changed. The woman finally got rights to do more activities now then it was in the fifties. Therefore, people have opinions to go back to the past to experience of what had happened to the nuclear family. America has changed by the culture and the environment from the 1950s to the present time of men and woman raising a family.

At the age of ten, my mother told me she was leaving my father. I was not sad; in fact, the news was a relief. My sister, my mother, and I faced the aggressive side effects of my father's drug and alcohol addiction. I grew up with my dad treating my family like nothing, as if he was in constant control of us and we did not matter. At the time, I did not comprehend the divorce was because of my dad's drug and alcohol addiction. I assumed when he passed out on the couch and would not wake up it was funny. The irrational mood swings were because he was overworked. My life, my view of the world, shifted when I pieced together what addiction

In this photo there is a woman standing alone, in a destroyed house.Very neutral tones on the walls, the rubble, and the outside light shining in. There is a cloth hanging behind her that is very thin, nearly see through. The only noticeable colors are on her seemingly clean, blue slippers; and a book of some sort which she is reading, or browsing through, that appears very white. Nothing in the picture seems to be salvageable and everything is broken and in shambles with the exception of the book. The picture is full of angular shapes including: the windows, the tables, and the poles. The woman herself is even standing in such an angular shape, with her back bent, hunched over the booked she is looking at and her leg is slightly bent at her knee. The only object in the picture that has a soft shape and no precise form is the cloth hanging over the windows behind her. The walls are not completely destroyed but there are many holes in the plaster, but they are not very deep. The photo holds little to no symmetry as everything is broken in a different direction or completely in shambles. The woman does not appear injured, her legs and slippers are very clean. The woman's white clothing is dirty only on the back and her face appears clean as well.

From 9 A.M. to 7 P.M for 6 or even 7 days of the week, they would always return home with this look of tiredness and fatigue. From when they came home to when they would sleep, they would rarely say anything. When my father would be free occasionally, he would always spend it reading a book, watching a documentary, or even writing. At the age of 10, I remember my dad showing me a poem he wrote that day. I, of course, forgot the contents since then, but I remember feeling guilty; even at the age of 53, his creative mind and desire for knowledge never left him, but here I am preventing him from pursuing them fully. And I felt the same for my mother: I would feel bad that she would have to dedicate most of her time to provide for me, while she could be doing other things she enjoyed, like exercising. Whenever I would bring this up, they would always say “You’re my son! You are the most important!” I never believed their words at first, but I would eventually start to feel the magnitude of their statements and learn the message they were trying to imbue in me: life is all about sacrifice, so you need to figure out what is worth it and what

My mom grew up in a close to perfect place. She grew up with neighborhood friends that acted more like family than friends. She had tons of loving aunts and uncles, loving parents. She was an only child for a while. But her parents became

Living with Grumps wasn't always easy. It wasn't because of anything that I had to change, but it was more watching my parents and how they changed. As Grumps' health worsened, so did their stress levels. Eventually, the cancer had gotten really bad, and Grumps had to go to the Veteran's Association. At the same time, my father starting dealing with his father who was addicted to cocaine. My dad would bring him food at least twice a week despite his disgust with his father's choices in life. My parents gave up part of their lives to help people who put their own first.

One day while at the pulpit in an empty church filled with thoughts was a priest who was pondering and meditating on his next step in helping a new family in town defeat an evil entity in their home whom they believe has taken over the poor soul of their 9 years old daughter.

In the eyes of my neighbors and my parent’s restaurant customers, my father, mother, older sister, younger brother, and I were the epitome of the perfect family. From the outside looking in, we were loving, supportive, happy, and accepting. However, their image of my family did not fit my own. Despite the hugs and kisses my father gifted my siblings and me, he was both physically and verbally abusive towards my mother. Strained silences and an uncomfortable feigned sense of normalcy were all consequences of his anger.

In my case, I was blessed to go home to a dad every night, even though I can’t tell you anything about my father for the simple fact that he never gave me a hug, kiss, told me he loved me, spent any time with me or said anything positive. He always talked to my mom and me like we were nothing, and even beat my mom. When I would try to tell the family about it, they just looked at me like

What is a perfect life or perfect family? From an outsider looking in, what does that life look like for you? Is the pressure of comparing your family with others and realizing that you do not measure up to what you see? We all have dreams of what our ideal life would be. Sometimes these are prompted by the “model” families that we have seen, or perhaps they are the dreams we had of what our own family should be like. Is there such a thing as perfect families or the perfect life? In the movie Juno and American Beauty some of these families try so hard to look picture perfect, however they are far from it. Remember that looks can be deceiving and comparison unfair.

When we think of the word “Surprise” we automatically think of something happy, maybe a birthday party. Sadly not all surprises are found in a birthday party or in a nice positive way. When you are in the waiting room of a Hospital with your mom crying, your family flying from out of town and everyone tell you to pray and there are four nurses running to your dads Hospital room, there is no good surprises you can get. I think that what doctors and nurses say is true, they say that the wall of hospitals hear more prayer than the walls of churches. The only thing you can think of while you are sitting there is about how things where before all those problems and worries were a part of your life, you think about how things got to point it was and about how things are going to change. I remember sitting in a very uncomfortable chair, my eyes burning, and feeling that an hour was a lifetime.

How can a definition be given to a phrase that has a different meaning for everyone? When someone thinks of what a perfect family is, chances are it looks like a mother, father, and kids all living together. This ideal scenario is not always the case for everyone. There are many circumstances that people are placed in, which would limit them from being able to fit in this stereotypical connotation. A perfect family is normally defined as a group with two parents and their kids, but for anyone who has grown up missing a parent it is a parent or parents and their kids.

A Broken Family consists of a biological family that has separated for specific reasons that may result in single parent families, step families or blended families.