The Story Of My Father's Life

The children, quick to draw conclusions would first hear of Martin from his mother, and picture him in their minds. The image that developed within their childish thoughts quickly developed into rhymes and imagination. But the image previously imagined would quickly change upon seeing the child in discussion. Late one afternoon as the sun began turn red, Marin appeared in the alley to children. He was smaller than they had imagined. With thin arms and legs he boasted a frail body. However much to their surprise the author utilizes imagery by depicting Martin’s “enormous belly”. This observation would soil

On page 180 Gogol remembers how when his grandparents died he had not understood his parents grief and was annoyed by their rituals. When my own grandparents had died I didn’t share my parents feelings of sorrow. I had only met them once in my life and even hen for around a month. I was very young when we had met and I wasn’t that close with them. Those people from my parents home country pass on and my life remains unaffected. It is so strange how we can know someone without really knowing them and the thought that I will someday have to deal with the same emotions frightens me slightly. Gogol also goes through this as he is deeply affected by his father's death. In this day and age where we are so reliant on technology we don’t cherish life as much as we should. Nott just our own lives but others. Afterall we only miss something once it’s gone.

For a child, the death of a parent can be devastating. I was nine years old when my father passed, and it was a terrible event for me. My father would not be there to take me to the park everyday, and at the dinner table it would be much more quiet without him there every night; it was definitely a struggle for my family to not have him there anymore. I knew that there was nothing that I could do about it, but it was still a hard thing to get through.

It was the spring of 2013. My mom took me out of school early that day because we needed to get driving to Dike, Iowa. Since my sister is also a volleyball player, she has state that same weekend, but not in the same place. However, the sophomores were at the same place we were. Anyhow, my sister drove with my mom to the hotel her team was staying at, and I drove with my dad. I’m a lot like my dad so I get ready pretty quickly and I only pack what’s needed. When I got home, it took me about five minutes to get ready since I packed my bag the day before. On the other hand, my mom had to take at least half an hour to “fix” her makeup and her hair, and my sister took about forty-five minutes just to pack her bag! Anyways, my dad and I made it

It seemed like I was talking about the same thing over and over but all I could think of were about my feelings. I was only thinking of myself at that moment and not of anyone around me, I was selfish. It was crazy to think that everything was going fine one day and the next day everything turned upside down. I finally understood the news on the television about children of immigrant parents being scared everyday you can possibly think of. I became one of those statistics that they talk about all around. Losing my dad was one of the most hardest things that had happen to me out of all my 18 years of living, and there might be more in the future but this hit me the hardest. I never imagined my dad to be ripped from me and less did I ever to

The muffled chokes masked my father's words as he spoke to me over the phone. He struggled to speak, signaling me to leave my dorm room occupied by multiple close friends. The overnight lacrosse camp I was at was on its final day, and the dorms were bustling with excitement and final activities. I was drawn out of this by the despair in my father's voice, I knew what he had to say was serious. The laughter from inside the dorms grew quiet as I shut the iron door of the dorms behind me, stepping out onto the dewy grass and soaking the mid calf socks which covered my sore feet. It was a truly perfect day, as cliche as it is. The sun shone radiantly among the aquatone skies, unobjected by any sign of overcast. The phone grew slippery as clammy

I always looked forward to my mom coming home from work. She always walked into the doors with a smile on her face and greeted us with so much affection. Seeing her each day after work gave me so much joy and I looked forward to it. One particular day when I was 5 years old, my mom pulled into the driveway and I got filled with excitement that I literally thought I was going to pee myself. Except when she got out of the car she had this look on her face that I had never seen before. She looked worried, scared, and heartbroken. My excitement quickly floated away. My mom approached my dad and said we need to talk. My mom and my dad went into the bedroom to talk and when they came out of that I room I knew something was wrong. Dad came out looking so angry and sad, as if his world was just turned upside down. My mom approached me and they both took me out onto the front porch of our home. I remember thinking in my head, “what did I do this time?’ That’s when the words came out my mom’s mouth, “Clay came to my work today and he wants to see you and have a relationship with you.” I knew Clay was

As I walk in, I see my dads old man blowing up what looks like the last green balloon. He’s got smoker lungs, so it looks like he took a while, since there was only one bag. I let him finished and got his inhaler for him. He looks like a grumpy old man, but once you get to know him he’s cool. He’s bald in one spot, just like my dad, and wears big dog t-shirts. He served in the Vietnam war. He’s shorter than most people.

My life changed when my cousin was born. I always knew that I loved kids, but I never realized I could love one so much. He is like my little brother, that is now over a thousand miles away. When he was first born, I basically lived with my aunt. Whenever I had some time off of school I would be at their house. Even though I was only 12, when it came to him, I had the responsibility of an adult. When I went to visit them, I would take care of him to give my aunt a break. I would change the diapers, warm the bottles, clean the spit up, and put him back to bed. I felt as though I was taking on the role of the parent for a few hours. He was the first child that I ever truly took care of. Even though I am his cousin, he calls me his auntie. I feel like I have a special bond with him that no one else has. For a long time, I was the only one he would allow to cut his nails. I would do anything for this boy. I was there when he learned to crawl, when he took his first steps, and when he said his first words.

“Dad!? Where are you going?” I asked. “Oh nowhere son just stay home. I'll be back by one in the morning.Don't worry” He said.“Why do you do this to me dad? I said but it was too late. He shut the garage door and sped off into the dark night. I knew where he went. I knew what he did. He did this every night and it hasn't gotten us anywhere. He goes to the Casino 30 minutes away and gambles all of our money down the drain. My dad doesn't have a job so we can't pay rent for this cheap motel we live in and we are on our last strike. The manager says if we don't pay our bill in 7 days, they are kicking us out. I went to bed that night hungry, but I was used to it.

Not long after I had turned seven, my mother had demanded a divorce from my father, but he didn’t want one and started to threaten my mother if she left him. For instance, one morning, I recall my mother arguing with my father about him not being around and always being drunk and high on drugs. My father was going around the house punching walls and throwing picture frames and anything he was able to get his hands on. I remember running into my parent’s room and seeing my mother holding on to my little sister with tears rolling down her face. I immediately went to my mother and wrapped my arms around her leg, holding on to her with what seemed like a death grip, afraid that my father was going to do something to her. I figured if I was there, my father wouldn’t do anything. It wasn’t long after, that my father bolted into the room with a handgun, pointing it in the direction of my mother. To my surprise, the words that came out of my father’s mouth next would haunt me for years to come. My father screamed at the top of his lungs, “Hija de tu puta madre, If you even think of leaving me, I will put a bullet in your head! Y si piensas de hablarle a la policia, a tus hijos le hago lo mismo!” It was then, that I knew my father was capable of not only hurting my mother, but my sister and I as well. That same day, my father left the house and didn’t return for two days. I saw my mother cry for days and noticed how terrified she was when the phone rang. We didn’t know when my father

I was born to parents who were in their late 30’s, early 40’s and considered by the government standard as being middle class. My mother was rushed to the hospital on March 14th, 1995 in Brandon, Florida. This made me the youngest of their three children. My sister is ten years older than I am and my brother is seven years older. After I turned two years old my family packed up and moved to Mobile, Alabama, where I would eventually grow up to become who I am today. My father took a job as the head of the grounds crew at Spring Hill College. He was also serving in the Air Force Reverses as an on-base security officer. My mother took a job as manager for a company called Sodexo. We were not rich by any means but we were also not poor by any means. We always had food to eat and clothes to wear. My parents always made sure me and my siblings had the things we needed and wanted. During Christmas, we always had gifts from “Santa”. Thanksgiving we gathered around as a family and there was plenty of food. I feel that I have been very fortunate with my upbringing and with my family. I know that being white and being from a middle class family has benefited me greatly. I know there is not a time in my life that I can recall being discriminated against. That certainly is benefit in everyday life that I couldn’t imagine someone thinking negatively of me because of simply who I am. I hate that people have to go through discrimination just because of their race, ethnicity, or religion.

I was seven years old when I first laid foot in Saudi Arabia; I was with my father visiting family for the first time in my life. As we got on the tube from the plane and walked towards the terminal, you are hit with that unfamiliar new smell of a country you just arrived, then to my surprise there was a big costume party that everyone are participating in, men in white dresses and red scarves on their heads, and women covered in black sheets from head to toe. I couldn’t believe my eyes that they have costume parties in the airport; is what my seven year old head thought at the time, I turned to my father and asked him, “dad why are they wearing costumes”. He looked down towards me leaned over and said “son that is our values and

On the 15th of February, 1986, I was born Yuri Choe in Songtan, South Korea. Bringing me into this world must have been a tremendous task for my mother because she reminds me often how difficult birthing me was. My mother unconditionally loved me the way I was and bought me a lot of dresses that a princess would wear in a fairy tale book. Also, she encouraged my learning and bought me more than hundreds of books to broaden my insight of the world. However, my father was a traditional, patriarchal Korean man who was immediately ashamed that his first born child was a girl instead of the preferred boy. He believed that women do not need higher education but they were born to support men and for domestic work. In fact, he did not like my mother spending money for my appearance or education. Also, he often disagreed with mother on almost everything. Reflecting on my childhood, I feel my parents lived together in the same apartment but in two different worlds. My father was frequently absent and my mother worked every day in a city far away. As the family pressures grew, my father became more violent toward my mother and me. As a result, when I became six years old, we left him and we moved into my grandparent’s house. Thankfully, my grandmother provided us with a wonderful home and took care of me with her endless love. However, she had her own problems as well. She bore the stigma and shame of birthing 5 girls in a row. In traditional Korean society, any woman who has only

I was only nine when I had found out that my father had another family; he had a wife and a son. My father had been living with them and would visit me at least once every two months or so, but as soon as I had turned nine, my father introduced my to my half-brother, who was a year and a third older than me. When they visited me, their visits were always brief; time seemed to fly by while I played games with my brother, Ken, but I later learned that it was my father’s wife who did not allow him or Ken to visit me and she had not known they were visiting me due to the fact that they would lie.